


white walls and yellow flowers

by orphan_account



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ - Freeform, Angst, College AU, Congenital analgesia, Domestic, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Metaphors, Roommates, Side Seongsang, Side Yungi, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Texting, Woosan, a little textfic, bet, but only slightly - Freeform, dare to date, eventual angst, groupchat, messaging, no beta we die like men, nothing nsfw!, ot8!, platonic jongjoong, platonic sansang, platonic woosang, platonic yunsan, san has cipa, weird descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 53,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “sorry, i couldn’t help it, you look very cute.” he says. “you remind me of marigolds.”“really?”wooyoung feels like he's getting too flustered, like flowers are blossoming in his chest at too quick of a pace, and he needs to break it somehow.“yeah, like the really ugly ones infested with bugs.”san sighs and rolls his eyes, takes it as their usual stabs at each other rather than wooyoung’s paper mache defense towards him. “you always know what to say, woo.”...or, the /slight/ enemies to lovers soulmate cipa au that exactly one person asked for, in which wooyoung falls off of his skateboard way too much and san can’t feel his pain.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 47
Kudos: 162





	1. san's sweater

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo
> 
> super excited for this one! i never do like experimental??? aus like this, it's mostly vanilla ones so i'm excited to share it with you guys! i spent a while on this first chapter and tbh it's kind of a premature beginning, but i like how it turned out and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it for you! 
> 
> i made a tweet that was kind of like a prompt to this au but kinda took a soulmate spin on it. it's a little different than what i'm used to, so i hope it isn't too unrealistic or boring!
> 
> i hope this isn't offensive at all. i'm writing about something that i have no idea about, that i just researched and read a bit of. i understand how it might be triggering for some. there isn't anything alarming written in this, or anything harmful about it (meaning like i didn't write anything having to do with emergency complications involving cipa, so no surprise heart attack or anything like that). this is just focused on the romance/friendship bits, this au is not meant to be taken seriously. i just wanted to put that out there, please stay safe!! if this offends anyone in any way, please let me know and i'll take it down with no problems!!
> 
> please enjoy!
> 
> p.s. these first two chapters might be a little boring/weird, they kind of explain the premise for the au but the rest should be normal!
> 
> p.p.s. did i really make wooyoung hoseok's little brother? am i really crossing over multiple kpop groups into this au?? more likely than u think

_hello!_

_really quick - this story is completely fictional and meant for entertainment purposes only!_

_everything is entirely made up, and the real-life people that the characters are named after have nothing to do with how they really are. i wrote this solely for your enjoyment (hopefully!) and for me to have something to pass the time with._

_please have fun with this, and thank you for everything!_

_\- mandi_

~❁~

Congenital analgesia. 

It was probably the weirdest thing that’s ever left Choi San’s mouth with every person he’s told.

Genital? Anal? Come _on._

Okay, maybe not so much the _weirdest_. But it was a close tie between that and trying to wrap his head around the fact that injury was one of the most important things in the world. Without it, there would be nobody that he could really call his _own_ , yet he couldn’t feel pain and never knew where the injuries came from.

Every hospital visit always had him wondering just how screwed he was as he waited for the doctor to fix him again.

San also didn’t really know if he _wanted_ anyone to call his own, anyway. But it was a nice thought.

He’s learned to dumb it down into phrases that sounded halfway decent based on how he’s feeling over the past few years especially. Sometimes, he liked to freak people out, and say that 90% of his skeleton was shattered and he couldn’t feel it. Other times, he was honest and told people that he just couldn’t feel pain, never knew how a hot shower felt, had to set reminders to pee and eat, as if it was ordinary. And it often resulted in bizarre looks from strangers that made San want to rip his tongue out and flatten it with his heel against the ground so that he wouldn’t be able to explain anything to anyone ever again, and he _could’ve_ , but… 

He had his reasons.

And there were many reasons for many things, like the one behind him having this _thing_. His mother told it to him in the best way she could when he was old enough to understand, that he was _born with a mutated gene that made him insensitive to pain._

That’s all it was. Simple. 

And then she had to tell him that he can’t go around hitting other kids because only _he_ had the weird gene and not his friends from school (and because she was receiving more calls from his kindergarten teacher than she would’ve been okay with for one year).

It was middle school when he started to understand, and began telling his friends about it, particularly to a kid with braces that seemed to never come off, _ever_ , who had a daring look in his eye when he did things like eat lunch and run around on the field for PE.

On top of that, he barely spoke.

San had always thought he was dangerous and unsuspecting, just like the movies, with his wiry auburn hair that grew too long over his forehead and the light freckles that sat across his nose like a a patch of daisies. San had built up the courage to talk to him one time during recess, and it was after their game of tag, after they were breathless and waiting for each other to finish drinking from the fountain, is when he asked.

“So if I punched you in the face _right now_ , you wouldn’t feel it?”

And that’s how he became best friends with Kang Yeosang, surprisingly powerful punch-in-the-facer and one of the people who he treasured most in the entire world, in a weird, yet destined whim of fate.

That’s also how they both ended up in the clinic and very confused with each other that same day, considering that they were supposed to be soulmates after Yeosang was ready to pour his entire shitty day across San’s face when the opportunity rose, sharing pain literally, in a way that made Yeosang think twice, and then a third time about punching anyone else in the face, for any reason.

Not even if they let him.

And San vowed to hate Yeosang forever because just what right did he have to punch him in the face like that on a Wednesday afternoon during lunch?

Then, when Yeosang asked if they were supposed to get married to each other after that, after San wanted to beat his face to mush just to see if he felt anything (and for hitting him first), San wanted to die.

That memory meant a lot to San, often going back to it whenever he spaced out from time to time.

He pilots himself out of the muddled greys and pitch blacks of his thoughts to sink back down into reality, remembering that he was in his favorite sub shop, sat at one of the tables with chairs that screamed way too loudly when you pulled them out, across from Yeosang himself and trying to find the rest of his trickling appetite in the hums of the drink stand at the back of the shop.

He glances at his half-eaten sub sandwich, and then to the tomato slices he’d taken out as they sat beside it, discarded on the wrapper it came in. They laid right beside the onions he’d pulled out first, and as he stared at them, in their isolation and solitude, he couldn’t help but kind of feel bad for them.

Tomatoes didn’t deserve this kind of hate. They were versatile, complementary, even. San didn’t care so much about the onions, though.

He picks a tomato up after the last thought slots through his head and shoves it into his mouth before he has a chance to think about it some more.

“What the hell was that?” 

Yeosang’s voice was so soft and so loud compared to the hollow ideas in his head as he chews on the tomato, remnants of vinegar and the flavor of the salami slices on his tongue, and as his stomach churned at the taste, he remembers that he was on a time-crunched date with him until he had class again in half an hour. 

San is quiet, a slight pressure in the corner of his eye making him blink harshly once, before he pressed the home button of his phone beside his melting soda, seeing the memory of him, Yunho, and Yeosang in the photograph of his lock screen, smiling together in a hospital room after Yeosang had broken both his and San’s arm after falling off of his skateboard, and Yunho being generous enough to drive them there as the clock neared midnight. 

The sudden change of brightness makes him squint a little, even if it was the heart of daytime and the first blush hours of the afternoon were slowly creeping into his personal clock.

He should feel more awake by now.

He glances at the time again before the screen shuts off, staining his head just as black while his soul goes out, too.

Make that twenty-eight minutes. Less time to spend with Yeosang.

“I didn’t wanna waste the tomato,” San tells him, meeting Yeosang’s eyes, and there was something in the way the usual, pretty shade of autumn leaves had darkened with a mix of confusion and an _are you serious?_ that made San almost want to laugh.

Almost. 

He really doesn’t know if he wants to eat the other tomato.

Yeosang shakes his head once with a sigh that San’s heard way too often. They go through this every time they go out to eat lunch together — San orders something new against Yeosang’s scarily convincing arguments that he wouldn’t like it and would waste his dwindling, college student money on, and he ends up despising it _just_ as Yeosang had said, and Yeosang ends up eating most of San’s discarded food because he had a talent for having a bottomless stomach in times like those and _the flavor of food that someone else didn’t want is irreplaceable_ (Kang Yeosang, verbatim).

And as if on cue, he reaches over, picking up the second tomato from beside San’s leftovers and eating it, and San thinks that tomatoes shouldn’t be eaten that delicately as Yeosang takes small bites from it, his eyes trained on the textbook in front of him, opened to the middle. There were post-its and pieces of notebook paper stashed in between random glossy pages, too many diagrams and words in it for San to even be remotely interested.

But he does take a moment to appreciate him while he’s open and not paying attention to him, vulnerable to San’s crosshairs.

As unadorned sunlight filters in through the window beside them, curtaining the table they sat at in a dewy crepuscular and highlighting the small bits of dust sprinkled around them from the sill like dwarf stars, San thinks Yeosang looks wonderful painted in a soft corona that gave prominence to his honey-kissed skin from the days he spends at the skate park, lightening his blonde hair even more than it was already.

San thought that Yeosang making the decision to let his blonde hair grow was a good one, as it draped over his eyes and his dark brown roots peeked out from where he liked to tuck it behind his ears. 

It was a very, very good decision.

And San never thought Yeosang made good decisions, like choosing to study biology in university, but he definitely got behind that.

Yeosang was always there for him, was always ready to listen and be in his company and be that much of a good friend that San sometimes wondered when Yeosang would get sick of him and replace him with someone who deserved him. He was endless, his smiles almost reaching infinity when he was talking about something he loved, and the way he looked at him sometimes, like he was a continuum and had all the love to look at him with and San didn’t have to worry because he was so unlimited for him. 

He was endless in the way he seemed to have an adoration that never slept for whoever he cared for, took a piece of his heart and gave it away, like it was nothing. 

He was always a good student, too. Even now, when his next exam was two weeks from today, he was studying as if it was during his next period, as if the day had put the world on hold just for San to marvel at his soulmate and the way he made college look so cliche and desirable, nailed down all by the way he was staring into his textbook.

And he was _literally_ just eating a tomato on top of that.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo.”

Yeosang’s voice reminded San of hopscotch drawn in colored soft chalk, his tone being the concern of scraping your knee against the hot pavement if you lost your footing at the right time, telling him he had gotten him shy without even saying anything to him, and daring him with his asphalt eyes to keep going, pink soft chalk dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I just really like looking at you.” San says, and he wasn’t lying, but there was enough banter in his voice for it not to mean so much. “You _are_ my soulmate, aren’t you?”

Yeosang looks at him, the kind that made Seonghwa purse his lips and brush his hand over his hair sometimes to get rid of it, and the type that was like those gag prizes that San finds in a bag of cracker jacks. 

They were fun to look at, and rare to come by. 

“Could you stop being gay for like, three seconds?” Yeosang stops chewing on the tomato, and in that instance, he really _tastes_ it, and then he realizes why San had discarded them so quickly.

He makes a face. 

“Dude, these tomatoes are fucking gross.”

San lightly clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth with the beginnings of sarcasm, pulling his red sweater sleeves over his hands in an attempt to combat the air conditioning in here, seeping into his skin like a plague. 

“No shit?”

He shifts in his seat a little, a pinch from his jeans on his waist and he was too lazy to really move and adjust his pants. That and, he had an irrational fear of embarrassment in public places, the sub shop being the perfect set up. He knew that as soon as he reached into his pants, the guy who made his sandwich would see him from behind the glass while getting rid of the stray lettuce on the counter and doing his job, and he would die on the spot, right in front of Yeosang with his hand in his pants.

He shifts again while Yeosang sighs, reaching for San’s other tomato as he finishes chewing on the last one. “I’m gonna tell Seonghwa that you keep looking at me. Then, he’ll beat you up.”

“Lies. And I like looking at Seonghwa, too.”

“Yeah, so do I.” Yeosang hitches his eyebrow once in warning, like police tape, his eyes going back to the textbook, and for a moment, San misses peering into them, admiring how the sunlight blew them into a light amber and dressed them up as if they were made for being looked into.

And sometimes, San thought that Yeosang _was_ made for being looked into. Like right now, when San could make up the wildest comparisons to flowers and constellations about how Yeosang smiled and find more ways to beautify him as the middle of his forehead creased, his eyebrows coming together to concentrate on his work.

“Do you have to ruin everything?” Is what San says instead.

Yeosang sighs again, tiredly, if San thought about it, looking up from his book. His mouth was stretched into a thin line, and San sees the gloss from his favorite pineapple mint chapstick (that he misplaced way too much for someone so afraid of dry lips).

“Stop distracting me, would you?”

“What are you even studying for? Pay attention to me, we’re supposed to be on a date!” San’s eyebrows come together, and he feels the slight dryness in the middle of his forehead and sets a mental reminder to put on more moisturizer tonight. 

He relaxes his face.

“A _study_ date, in which you have yet to pull out your laptop and do your comp assignments.” San’s skin feels sensitive as Yeosang lectures against him, his voice like a grater, and he knows he didn’t really mean it and that it shouldn’t hold as much weight as it did. He doesn’t let Yeosang see it, but he would much rather listen to the silence again. “And it’s stat, what else?” 

“Aren’t you a bio major?”

“Stat is _mandatory_.” Yeosang put a little more stress on that last bit, and that somehow pierced into San’s worst memories and brought up the nights he would spend studying and figuring out problems only to fail every single exam he got. He purses his lips, focusing instead on Yeosang now going for the onion slices, pushing the disgust he had for them into the back of his head as Yeosang speaks. 

“You don’t have to worry about it, because you aced your stat test in AP. Still don’t know how you pulled it off.”

“It sounds like you’re calling me dumb. And you’re really gross for eating those onions.” San comments, remembering his many _other_ comments on telling Yeosang just how gross he was for eating raw onions on a different occasion.

“Not dumb. But definitely suspicious. And these onions cost at least three cents. You’re gonna let them go to waste, let capitalism win?” Yeosang asks, but San was already thinking about what he’d mentioned about his stupid stat class rather than coming up with something to say to humor him.

San was kind of a slacker, so he couldn’t even get mad at him for saying that, anyway. And quite honestly, he was expecting to go out with no credit for that class back when he was a senior, and mentally prepared himself for the lowest score possible on that exam when they came out in the summer, so when he passed with one of the highest scores in his class, he was suspicious, too.

Just his brain doing miracles, whatever.

“I aced it for my programming expertise.” San watches Yeosang roll his eyes again, and San shakes his head. “How the hell are we even soulmates? You bully me all the time.” He says, and the word sounded so unfamiliar and far out, like how sand feels between your teeth after the beach or the tanginess of orange juice on your tongue after yourinse with alcoholic mouthwash.

It was _weird_ and San didn’t like it.

Not at all. 

“Exactly. I can’t bully a regular friend or else I’d drive them away.” San was the one to roll his eyes this time. “And I don’t know, we just are. How are you and Yunho soulmates? How are me and Seonghwa soulmates? I’m not god, San.” Yeosang rests his arm on the table, in between his textbook and himself, his black bomber jacket muffling the sunlight that had glossed over the cherries and vines painted onto the surface of the table underneath them, turning a strip of his sleeve into an ashy grey, a couple of dwarf stars settled on it.

“Isn’t it weird how we have multiple soulmates? Who even invented the fact that we have to _hurt_ each other to figure that shit out? Why couldn't have had, like…tattoos or something cooler? Injury? What the hell is that about?” San asks, and this takes him on the journey to the center of his earth, having almost too many questions about it and how everything came to be and soon, as Yeosang’s looking at him with one of those crackerjack prize faces, he’s questioning his entire existence.

“San, stop asking me impossible questions. It’s just how it is.”

When Yeosang tells him that, San has another question like a matchstick flame on his tongue, searing and filling him with smoke. He needs to get it out quickly.

“What if-” And it’s burning his cities down in napalm skies as he gasps, his head working too fast. “What if _we_ were meant to be lovers?” 

“What is wrong with you?” Yeosang blinks once at San, then twice, and he’s got that light pink chalk on his cheeks again but San has to keep going.

“No, seriously. What if Seonghwa is your platonic and _I’m_ your romantic? And you ruined the script of the universe and now everyone is all messed up? What if _you’re_ the reason why I can’t feel pain?”

Yeosang sighs through his nose, and San notices how bored he looked as his autumn eyes were dim and shining through his eyelashes.

“Will you shut up?”

“Are you saying that you don’t wanna be my lover?” At this point, San was just talking to hear his own voice, embarrassing himself in front of the fruit sodas in the drink stand and the onion slices and the guy who made his sandwich behind the glass if he listened hard enough, digging through his bag of cracker jacks for another prize from Yeosang.

Chances were slim, but not zero.

“In your dreams.”

“I can’t believe you friend-zoned me in the middle of a sub shop.” San slumps and feigns hurt for a moment, just for Yeosang to sigh for what seemed like the nth time this afternoon with him.

San smiles delicately, like cherry blossoms when they fall from trees, silently putting up white flags for him.

Only for now.

“That’s just the way things are, man. We all have soulmates.”

“Okay, but…” San blinks and imagines the veneer on the textbook melting off and evaporating into the air as he thinks a little too much about this next question, “how will I know when I get mine?”

Yeosang shrugs, going back to his textbook, but the aftertaste of onions and the receding timeline of their break catching up to them made him lose his appetite to study any more. He shuts the book and wipes off the little wet smudge he made on the shiny front cover from his fingertip with the sleeve of his bomber.

“I dunno. You can’t feel pain, but you still get the injuries. Where do you think the mystery scrapes and sprained fingers come from, especially now that you live with two of your soulmates? There’s another one out there. Maybe they’re your romantic.” Yeosang tells him, as if it was a normal thing to tell your best friend, that it was normal to not feel pain and it was normal to have injury-soulmates. 

Mind you, the only reason why San knew they were best friends was from when he punched him in the face back in middle school.

San wants to know what the fuck is up with that.

“I’m doomed to be alone forever.” San feels like a tire with a nail in it when he thinks, slowly deflating as he has the weight of his entire future planned out, seeing himself alone and growing old with a little dying cactus he kept from his apartment from college, collecting dust on a bookshelf with exactly three and a half novels on it.

_Jeez._

“Oh, please. You don’t have to date your soulmate. I’m sure you’ve dated a lot of boys before. They weren’t your soulmate, right?” Yeosang’s voice is colored with that inky reassurance, where San wanted to believe him, but he was constantly raining showers over him and washing away all the hopscotch boxes of hope and optimism and kicking over all of Yeosang’s half-full glasses the more he tried.

He knew it wasn’t that serious, but he kind of _wanted_ to have a romantic soulmate of his own now that he’s speaking it into existence, and he was a little bummed knowing that he didn’t meet one, yet. 

He thinks about Yeosang and Seonghwa, then Mingi and Yunho, and another bout of rain washes away Yeosang’s yellow hopscotch boxes, next to his shattered glass, for knowing exactly who his soulmates were.

“I guess. Everyone around me has one.” And San knew he was whining and that Yeosang wasn’t studying to figure out which ear was best for him to listen to San complain into, so he drops it once Yeosang shrugs and shakes his head again, looking into the glassy cherries of the table.

“I dunno, Sannie. Just…don't worry about it too much. Maybe the next soulmate will be your romantic, who knows?” 

“Or another platonic.”

“Aren’t we only limited to two platonics?”

_“I don’t know!”_

San looks at his red sweater sleeves over his hands, at the pleated trim lightly hugging around his thumb and fingers, trying to find his thoughts in the white stitches and drowning his worries in the suffocating colors. Yeosang was right. He was still so young, barely hitting twenty about three months ago. He still had time, right?

Right?

San wonders how the cactus in his bedroom is doing.

Yeosang abruptly stands up, ripping up San’s thin, tissue paper sentiments as the chair screeches across the frosted tile beneath them, light scuff marks a few centimeters away from the first leg of Yeosang’s chair and telling San that this was the go-to spot for two dining in here.

They were a prime example of it.

“Come on. We have thirteen minutes before my class starts. I wanna grab a seat next to Joong.” Yeosang says, wrapping the rest of San’s sandwich up in front of him and throwing the ball of wet onions and dried up bread in the bin beside the drink stand.

Hongjoong.

San registers Hongjoong in his head as if he’d just seen him yesterday. And he _did,_ considering he was one of Yeosang’s good friends and Jongho’s platonic soulmate, so he was always around. The distant, faint memory of his heavily striking red hair and the pretty dangly silver he liked to wear in one ear, like chandeliers or windchimes on doorsteps, made San smile a bit.

He would make sure to see him again today, at least once.

“Oh, yeah. Let’s go, he’ll be upset if he has to sit beside someone else. Plus, I wanna see him, too.” San braces himself as he pushes his chair out, and despite the mental fortress he’d created to block out that terrible sound, it still made him cringe and stop halfway through, waddling out awkwardly through the small space in between the table and the chair.

He grabs his phone, glancing at the flash of his lock screen and thinking about what Yeosang told him. As he leads him out of the sub shop and into the quiet and beautifully flowery afternoon of their small town, he tries to remember even the slightest bit of pain back then, trying to find the feeling in the chipped paint of the crosswalk beneath their feet and the way the trees billowed in the sluggish breeze that tangled through his hair and kissed his cheeks. 

He tries to remember it when he saw part of his arm darken into a bruise with Yunho running into a wall that one time, but got nothing. He tries when he saw Yeosang in his cast after falling off of his board, but got nothing. He tries when he remembers the little hehetmons Yeosang would draw on _his_ cast after taking him to the same hospital that day, and got nothing. He tries to remember it when he watched Yunho accidentally ram his forehead into a particularly low door frame, and when the welts began to swell up and Yunho was freaking out on the way to the doctor and San held ice to his own skin, and got nothing. He tries to remember when Yeosang spent the night at Seonghwa’s and people were giving San weird looks the next morning when he took off his pullover in his warmest class.

He got _nothing_.

There had always been nothing.

There was nothing when he bit the inside of his lip a little harsher than he should’ve on the way to their university, there was nothing when he slipped his hand out of his sweater sleeve and held it in the way of the sun massaging heat waves into his back, there was nothing when he lightly popped a knuckle as he followed Yeosang into the building, the soft crack like the blow of a 9mm Kurtz in his ears but he never felt the shot and he never bled.

It still somehow scared him all the same.

And it’s like Yeosang could hear his thoughts, because he glanced over his shoulder at San once they got to the open door of his science class, the room half empty with no sign of his professor anywhere, typically.

He gives him a look that makes him stop thinking so hard, just for now.

Yeosang peeks inside of the classroom, San watching his face fall a little and his eyes perch up at the top row for a moment, before he leans against the wall right in front of the door frame, his black backpack slung over one shoulder while his textbook’s in the other hand. He looked like a real college student again, the kind you’d find against the lockers of an all too familiar and terribly unrealistic teen movie. He looked like he had tons of friends and too many dates to go on and San almost wants to get jealous.

Almost. 

“Hey, did you hear about that new transfer student? Hoseok’s little brother?” Yeosang asks, and he swallows as his eyebrows come together a bi, focusing on San, and despite him being used to it, San didn’t like being too easy to read, as if he was made of scriptures and scrolls and Yeosang had found him on a pedestal in the middle of a spotlight. It made ants crawl under his skin.

Can Yeosang just _stop_ knowing all the time? It was killing him.

San registers exactly what Yeosang said and looks at him, a newfound interest in the black-haired boy with his voice of trumpets from his infotech class as his heart picks up a little at the interest. He feels a bit sick. “Hoseok? H-he has a brother?”

Yeosang nods, and just by concentrating on San, he tastes the linger of the onions on his tongue when he opens his mouth to speak again and he really wished that he hadn’t convinced himself it would be a good idea to eat those.

He thinks back to the front pocket of his backpack and tries to remember if he had any mints left. 

“Uh…yeah. His name is Wooseok, I think. He transferred here, or is gonna. I don’t know. I don’t really care.” 

San blinks. “So why bring him up?”

“Because you looked worried and I know you’re tripping over what we talked about in the sub shop,” Yeosang says matter of factly, his voice reminding him of the scarlet color in stop signs, or the slippery puddles on bustling streets after a rainstorm.

He was wary of it, too. He didn’t know why.

And when Yeosang looked at him without saying anything else, silent except for his eyes that held accusations, San felt like ants again.

“Ugh, shut up. It’s fine, I’m not worried. What does Wooseok look like?”

Yeosang shrugs, and that tiny movement somehow possessed a small breeze to wash over them from one of the many air conditioners scattered around this hallway alone, caressing San’s face in an unexpected cold and letting Yeosang’s blonde hair fall over his eyes. He brushes it out of his face with his free hand, leaning up off of the wall and silently reminding San that he had to spend the next two hours alone, unless Yunho spontaneously got laid off from work or Jongho’s first half of classes suddenly got canceled. 

He feels deflated again, more nails in his tires than he remembered.

“I don’t know.” He tells him, shouldering his backpack and holding onto it with the hand that moved his hair from his face, and San could swear he felt his heart break in his chest.

He sighs, but Yeosang thinks it’s because he gave him a brick wall of an answer about the mysterious Jung Wooseok that he cared so little yet too much about. News of new students never piqued anyone’s interest, especially not San’s because he knew he would never make the effort to go talk to people he didn’t know. Maybe he harbored on it because though they really didn’t like each other, he kind of _sort of_ interacted with Hoseok a bit, whenever he asked for a pencil or something, so he was connected to him, right? He should know all about him, _right?_

He doesn’t know.

“Hey, you should stop at the drugstore and get some band-aids,” Yeosang tells him, his eyes trained on his shoulder and then checking his entire arm, and there was a slight pitfall in San’s chest when he thinks of Yunho getting hurt somewhere underneath the comfort of Yeosang looking out for him if he had.

“Why?”

“Yunho might have fallen or something. Check your shoulder. That sweater was really cute, too.”

San hooks a finger in the collar of his sweater and pulls, seeing a small splotch of blood like crimson acrylic, and he sighs, the sight not really alarming him as much as it was irritating. 

What a waste of his favorite sweater.

His problem was gone as quickly as it came once he saw Hongjoong jog up to them, his cherry red hair curled and curtained over his forehead as he haloed San in his notable and unwavering Hongjoong-esque excitement to see him after so long. He watches Yeosang wave goodbye to him and walk into his class with Hongjoong, feeling alone again.

As he left and monitored just how hot it was by the shadows he was casting on the ground as he stepped over cracks in the sidewalk and avoided the dried up dog poop by the stop sign on the way home, and as he greeted absolutely nobody in his shared apartment as the afternoon melted into early evening, he couldn’t help but wonder about Jung Wooseok.

He was a menace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes ik i said wooseok
> 
> if the characters are confused about who hoseok's brother is we all gotta be we just gotta


	2. gross!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! sorry for the late chapter for those of you still reading!
> 
> i hope you’re doing well during this time!!! i hope you’re staying safe and healthy, and that you’re finding things to keep your mind off of what’s going on, even for just a little. don’t forget to eat! i’m rooting for you! <333
> 
> this chapter might feel a little weird but contains more sansang content than anything but i’ll try to update as much as i can ^-^
> 
> please enjoy!

It’s been exactly sixteen hours since the time Yeosang reset San’s entire being and made him rebuild his life again from the ground-up from just a simple conversation.

San knew because he'd been counting. He always keeps track of the things that stress him out the most, that way, by the time they're over, he could put himself at ease.

He doesn't know how that conversation would come to a head. And it stressed him out.

That conversation made up his minutes and his predicaments made up his hours, and the more he tried not to think about it, the more he ended up harboring it. Today, he found himself sat at another table for two with him, this time, at the chicken shop in their university’s dining hall to waste time before San had to go to class.

Raw sunlight made the majority of the lighting in here, aside from the dim lamps above them, and San always associated dark places with rainstorms, so to be in the wash of the clouded sun from the curtainless window beside him, and wishing he were somewhere more radiant with Yeosang, was kind of an understatement. 

As Yeosang lets San orbit him today, lets him float in his gravity in silence as he thinks — something they did together a lot — San holds a chicken nugget up to his face, looking at how the ketchup he’d dipped it in settled on it, watching it slowly creep towards his fingers and he knew he needed to finish before the rest of them got cold, but he felt like he couldn't.

He’d been full off of his thoughts since the sub shop yesterday and food just wasn’t as appealing to him anymore.

“San. Stop getting distracted.” 

San blinks. “I’m sorry, I’m thinking.” He tells him, and he eats his chicken nugget but it tastes like wet cement once he chews it enough, and he wants to spit it out _._

Why was he so worked up over it? He had _time_. Other kids his age were worried about schoolwork or the next party they were going to, yet he was worried about his stupid soulmate that he would bump into in the hallways or be assigned a group project in class, like the movies. He didn't know.

“I know. But about what?”

And when Yeosang does this, leaves him open to ask this very embarrassing question that’s been suffocating his thought process for the past day, San decides to focus more on the rest of his chicken and worry less about what Yeosang might think of him for asking. He thinks about what he said yesterday, as he looks at him with his eyes that reminded him of fall, yet there were no crackerjack prizes this time and it reminded him of so much of _yesterday_ that he begins to feel sick again.

His stomach is getting full.

As it bubbles up in his mouth, he decides to just ask it. Yeosang would understand.

“Yeo, how’d you know Seonghwa was your romantic soulmate and not your platonic?” 

To say it out loud makes sirens go off, like tsunami warnings and he anticipates his head getting swept away. They were soft and bearable for now, but San knows if he didn’t get the answer he was looking for, they’d blare, maybe make him go deaf in his right ear and cause him to harp on it some more when they got home. He couldn’t stand just thinking about things that had no answer to it. And he knows Yeosang didn’t have all the answers, either, but still.

Maybe that’s why he felt so hopeless about it.

That same hopelessness was magnified, blown in the way Yeosang shrugs at him, shrugging more _hopelessness_ into his heart and making his chest cave in. Yeosang pauses for a moment, finding the question in the air and hanging onto it, hoping it would float him in the right direction to make San not feel worse about the situation.

San watches as Yeosang’s lips kind of pucker as if he was eating sour candy, telling him that he was thinking a bit too hard about what he was going to say and it gave way to the fact that Yeosang was going to try and not make him feel worse, no doubt.

San sometimes wished Yeosang wasn’t so see-through, either.

“Hm…he kind of just…like…” Yeosang lightly bites the inside of his bottom lip as he pushes his fingers deep into his head, hoping to pull out the most sensible answers he could muster for San’s question — because quite frankly, he didn’t really know how anything worked, either. 

“When I first heard his name, I felt my heart kind of drop. It was like…” Yeosang looks at the ceiling again, “kind of like he was there already, standing in front of me and making me fall in love with him. I remember Hongjoong telling me about him and I immediately got butterflies. And I remember being very confused about it. Had that same look on my face like how you do, now.” 

San blinks, Yeosang breaking his fourth walls and causing him to remember that he, in fact, had a face that showed exactly what he was feeling, and he needed to fix it before Yeosang could question any more. 

He quickly softens, taking a breath and looking down at his lap, noticing the little threads from the hole in his jeans, right above his knee. He brings the hand that was holding his chicken nugget down to play with the threads instead, leftover crumbs from his fingertips falling onto the dirty tiles beneath them.

This whole soulmate deal was such a mood ruiner. He was sinking to the distant, murky bottom of Marianas Trench and it was only four on a Friday afternoon.

“And then?” He asks, and with only those couple of words, he throws Yeosang in for another loop, tugging at the thread in his jeans and pulling out a strand of elastic, letting it join the chicken nugget crumbs next to his white shoe.

This place really needed more sunlight. San was getting cold, fast.

“And then…I met him at the party, and I felt it in my chest again. I dunno, man.” Yeosang shrugs again, and it feels like he shrugged the whole world up when he does, causing an earthquake inside of San, a 9.4 on the Richter scale. “You know how love feels?”

San shakes his head no, never experiencing that in his life because there hasn’t been a time where he’s ever thought _hm, I might be in love._ The closest he’s ever gotten to being in love recently was yesterday, as he looked out of his window once the sun melted into the evening and cast pretty violets over the reflection of the clouds above him.

Yeosang answers as if he nodded and thought about that often.

“Yeah. It’s kinda like that. I knew I loved him when I met him. And when he poked his finger with one of the safety pins in his desk drawer, it worked. Probably sucked for his platonics, though.”

And it kind of bothers San, as he’s looking at Yeosang resting his elbows on the table, in his oversized black sweater and blue jeans with no holes in it, how he was so _nonchalant_ about the whole thing. 

He didn’t think it was weird to have soulmates. He didn’t think it was weird that he started bleeding from his finger when Seonghwa poked his own, but San _does_ , thinks it the strangest thing, most out of this world fucking _thing_ he’s ever heard of, and he wants to scream about it to everyone in this dining hall, maybe call his mom and scream to her through the phone, too.

But he can’t question it. 

“Do you know of all your platonics?”

“Just you. I might have another one or two or three more.” Yeosang shakes his head with a frown. “I dunno.”

“Okay…” San goes back into his head, studies the list of questions he’d branded on himself because he knew they would never go away, even when Yeosang gave him makeshift answers for them. “Okay, what if you guys break up?”

“Jeez, San.” Yeosang’s voice sounded like heavy wind when San asked him that, the kind that sweeps up cows and ruins entire neighborhoods.

He hears the sirens again.

“ _Seriously_. Will you still be his soulmate?”

Yeosang nods, his eyes going back to the rest of his food rather than the ceiling or the air he’d been trying to hold onto or the stars past the atmosphere that San likes to run wild in. “Of course. If we were to break up, _hypothetically-_ ”

“Hypothetically, yes.” San nods, tugging at his jeans thread again, too rough to be bored and too gentle to be annoyed. It was just in the middle. Purgatory, where San felt he was trapped in all the time when it came to stuff like this. 

“Then _hypothetically,_ we would get into new relationships with people who aren’t our soulmates. I would still love Seonghwa and he would still love me in that soulmate way. It’s like…different…with us together…rather than with other people.” Yeosang’s voice begins to sound choppy, like his brain is thinking too quickly at once but he can’t get it out in time.

Almost as if he was glitching. 

He sees San’s face again and tries to take a different route to explain this out loud. 

“It’s like if me and you were to fight and move out, or you and Yunho. We would still love you because you’re still our soulmate, you know?” Yeosang shoves a waffle fry into his mouth, and shrugs again, carelessly. He chews and doesn’t think about his answer so much anymore.

San shakes his head again, this time, feeling both bothered and confused as he tries to wrap his head around it. “I don’t.”

“Well…me neither, if you really want me to be honest,” Yeosang tells him, his sweater sleeve falling down his other wrist as he brings it up to scratch his ear, the dangly silver he has in making a noise like hollow wind chimes but San doesn’t really hear it. “I don’t really know about that stuff but, based on my own experience, that’s kinda my hypothesis on it. My brain is literally throbbing, stop making me think so much, would you?”

And San sighs, looking over at his friend, and at that moment, he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t think too hard about it, either. Yeosang didn’t care so much. Why should he?

But Yeosang has a romantic soulmate, so why _would_ he?

San’s brain was also throbbing. 

“You know, you’re so knowledgeable, Yeosang. Like a wise, old, shrively man.” San’s sarcastic, their go-to method of communication in the form of light punches and surface scratches, leaning forward a bit and letting his nose poke into Yeosang’s space again.

“I’m not old,” Yeosang says, his eyebrows coming together as he eats another waffle fry, this time, dipped in Secret Sauce.

“You’re getting there. You’re gonna be _really_ shrively.”

“Wow, you sure know how to flatter. Thanks. So much.” And that was probably the flattest tone San has ever heard come out of Yeosang’s mouth, and it has him hiding a laugh behind his hand and soon Yeosang’s rolling his eyes with a smile and it feels like they were in middle school again, when they found ways to pass the time together in the clinic or relied on each other to survive their last year oh high school.

Back then, Yeosang was all San could think about, and was everything he looked forward to. 

Now, it’s Yeosang, Yunho, and Mystery Romantic Soulmate That He Has Yet To Meet, among other things.

“Oh, Yunho told me the other day that it’s Jung Wooyoung, not Wooseok,” San says, just because the name had flashed right in the middle of his head like a red stoplight, and he goes back to his metaphysics class, the image of Jung Hoseok in his head asking him for a pencil, and then the mean looks he hands him underneath the tables when San glances in his direction or when he scratched his eye in the middle of a lecture.

San knew Jung Hoseok didn’t like him. He _also_ knew he didn’t give a hot shit if Jung Hoseok liked him or not.

And in his bout of thinking, Yeosang shrugs again, one that collapses the entire world as he follows it with _I told you I didn’t care. I still don’t._

“Come on, aren’t you a _little_ interested in what he looks like?” San asks, and Yeosang finishes his last waffle fry before peeling back the half-eaten bread atop his sandwich, making another lemon sucking face as he contemplates whether or not he was hungry enough to finish it now.

“I _do_ know what he looks like. In fact, I’ve seen him before he transferred. He goes to the skate park by the fro-yo place, the one where we met Jongho. I never knew his name, though.”

San recalls the last memory he’s had of going to that skate park, to go on the swing set on the playground with Yunho while Yeosang practiced his skater tricks. Then he remembers how they met Jongho, all sweaty and boiling from running around the park during one of the hottest days of one the hottest summers they’d ever seen, and San remembers thinking Jongho was a bit insane to set himself up for heat stroke like that. 

Even then, San always liked Jongho, thought he was beautiful back then, too. He surrounded everything and everyone who knew him, he made them feel safe in the way he smiled like silver and laughed like home, made you want to explore him and take in his adventures while keeping safe in his heart when the night slowed.

He was good like that.

And sometimes, San got slightly jealous of the fact that Jongho already had a soulmate somewhere. His platonic had been Hongjoong, and sometimes San thought it was also Yunho with the way the two were so alike (but they tested it, and instead of Jongho bleeding from the prick in his finger, San and Yeosang got an earful from Hongjoong the next morning with how irresponsible Jongho can be with a bandaid wrapped around the pad of his thumb).

San liked Jongho a lot, anyway.

“The one you never go to?” San asks.

Yeosang nods. “Yeah. I hate that park, it’s too big. It’s built for like…Tony Hawk and his entire bloodline.”

San simpers, his nose scrunching up a bit as he makes a face through his grin. “That was nerdy, even for you, Yeo.”

Yeosang focuses his eyes on him again, an incredulous look curtaining over his face and San anticipates what he’s going to hit him with next, probably telling him he has no room for calling him nerdy when he’s—

“San, you’re _literally_ a coder.”

_There it is._

San leans back in his chair, the soft creaking adding to the reverb of white noises and background voices and nervous nuisance in his head as he stops playing with his jeans, folding his hands in his lap and tracing the outline of his right thumbnail with his left, just to fill in space and pass the time should they run into a gap in their conversation. 

It happened sometimes.

“Anyway. Tell me what he looks like.”

“Why are you so interested in him, huh? You think he’s your _soulmate_ or something?”

San colors ruby underneath Yeosang’s accusing stare, his head drowning and he wants to tell Yeosang to stop thinking stuff like that, to tell him to stop because it was making his stomach drop and he hated the feeling of falling when he was sitting on a chair in the university’s dining hall. His voice came out sickeningly sweet, like a banana that you forgot about in your lunchbox, and with the way San’s eyebrows came together and he looked like he was sitting across from a ghost, Yeosang knew that he threw his dart right in San’s bullseye and hit him where it hurt.

And it did feel like there was a dart in his back, annoying and straight in the middle and he couldn't pull it out. 

Yeosang was so _annoying._

“F-fuck off, Yeosang!”

But Yeosang seemed to block out any spike in San’s voice that gave away to him being humiliated, though there was nobody near them for him to get humiliated in front of. 

“He’s tall.” He continues, shrugging _again_. “Like our height, maybe a teensy bit shorter than me. And his hair is dark and getting long. Tanned skin. Pretty eyes. Knowing you, you’d probably compare them to like…seashells or some weird shit.”

San huffs. “This was supposed to be a description of Wooyoung discussion not a rank on San discussion.”

Yeosang shrugs. “Yeah, well, you know.”

“I don’t.”

“Hey, you wanna hang out? I don’t wanna go home, yet. Jongho’s working and Yu has class.” Yeosang quickly changes his mind to something else, and San sometimes wonders how easy it was for him to get his head off of things. San wishes he could do that, too, in this case, take his mind off of Wooyoung and soulmates and everything else they talked about within the past half hour. 

“Um…” San blinks into his cold chicken nuggets, somehow more unappealing, yet there was a spark of excitement to spend more time with Yeosang after class. “I have to go to class really soon. If you want, I could meet you in the library and we could grab milkshakes on the way home. It should be dark by then, so we could feel like we’ve done something.”

Yeosang nods, closing his chicken sandwich box to throw away. “Yeah, that works.” San gets up, and quickly makes a mental map of the way to his class from here, not looking forward to going, but using the premise of milkshakes afterward as some kind of motivation. “I’ll see you later, then.” 

“Yeah.” San sighs. “See you.”

~❁~

After the world flushed fuchsia, as yellow ochre slowly drained out from the sun across the horizon and the clouds were transparent once a navy violet painted the sky, San found himself basking in the moonlight on the way back to their apartment beside Yeosang, milkshake in one hand while he held onto his backpack strap with the other.

There was something about walking away from their busy university into the quiet area of their neighborhood that always made San feel like he was traveling more than he really was. As if coming back from a long business trip, or switching dimensions just by crossing the street, and they were the only two people in the world who were lucky enough to time travel like this under the ivory protection of the moon. The night soaked into San's skin, and he reveled in the way his bones held constellations above him and painted him in silver as the moon projected freedom into them. 

He loved nighttime.

He and Yeosang held small conversations, arising just as easily as they ended, settling into the auroras above them to remember later as the moon encouraged them to walk a little faster. It was dark, and though San always liked to be in company, there was still an uneasy feeling settling on his shoulders and he urged Yeosang to walk a bit quicker.

“Don’t worry. I carry pepper spray!” Yeosang tells him, and San shakes his head and sips his milkshake.

It tastes like strawberries and summertime. He takes another while he thinks.

“Yeah, but, what if _you’re_ the one getting attacked? Then I can’t save you because you have the pepper spray.” Their apartment wasn’t far from where they were now, a sense of familiarity in the way one of the dim streetlamps above them flickered bronze over Yeosang’s shoulders, and San feels his heart pick up at the thought of seeing Yunho and, hopefully, Jongho tonight.

Right beside their apartment, at the end by the stairs that San never takes because it was always too dark, even in the morning, the door the empty one was open, the light above it giving out for a moment before it let on. San lets his eyes linger, always knowing that apartment to be empty since they’d moved out here, so he had no idea who that was. He was expecting another college kid, considering they were right by the university and only someone who had enough courage for the entire complex would be able to live right by that staircase. 

Plus, these doors were so unnecessarily difficult to get open and he knew nobody in their right mind above the age of twenty-seven would settle here unless they _had_ to. That apartment’s been vacant for as long as San can remember, so this was kind of weird, seeing someone take it up.

San looks away before Yeosang would notice and ask about it. 

“Don’t you know martial arts?” Is what comes out of Yeosang’s mouth instead.

“Yeah, but…I’d be scared to use it. I’ve never really hurt anyone!” San tells him, remembering those times in the dojo and how nervous he used to get for his strength tests and belt ceremonies. 

What a weird time in his life, when that was one of the few things he’d been worried about.

“So, what I’m hearing from you, my best friend in the entire world, is that you’d let me die if we got attacked because you’d be too scared to _hurt them.”_

San nods, feeling strange beneath his skin as he thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“Jeez.”

San hears a soft jingling and glances over to see Yeosang had pulled out the key to their apartment from his bag, along with what San assumed was a gym membership and one of the tags to their favorite adoption center they sometimes volunteer at. They’ve never adopted anything from there, but San thought it was nice of him to have just in case they do.

One day, they would.

And as they climb the brighter stairwell to their apartment (San insisted), San counting the number of steps it took to get to the second floor, he watches a stray leaf dance away as the wind carries it across the concrete beneath his shoes, brown and dead. There’s a black splotch of dried gum near the railing and San looks away from it before he thinks too much. 

It took about eleven steps. Last time it took twelve.

San’s eyes wander across the hallway as he waits for Yeosang to open the door, slightly nosey in find out who had moved in beside them, and he finds himself glued to the concrete, like there was flypaper on the soles of his white shoes and the world was pressed on pause just so he could see him, the stars hanging heavy in the air and the night seeming a little too dark tonight.

San can’t look away from him as he comes up the stairs, and as the wind picks up through his hair and the flowers in the pots by his door bloom wide as he walks towards them, he thinks he’s the one who’s laid out the flypaper for him.

There’s a boy there, around his age, wearing a huge red hoodie that nearly swallowed him whole as it pooled over his hands and folded at his throat. Black hair framed his sun-kissed skin in a way that San would have seen in a photograph, softly curved over his forehead and complementing his tawny eyes. 

San himself felt like a freeze frame, as if he needed to stay steady to _really_ look at him, the boy effortlessly capturing all of San’s attention in the way he ran his hand through his black hair once. 

The boy walks a bit slower once he notices San, blinking at him, and his eyes are curious and overwhelming and pretty as they make zigzagged shapes across San’s hair, then over his face, then down to his sticky white shoes and then back up to his face again. He had a hint of mystery to him, his skin highlighting shadows and his bones shining with dark matter of everything San didn’t know about him, yet everything he felt he needed to.

And the world goes silent as his lips formed a half-smile, crooked and pink like strawberry taffy, the white stick of a lollipop poking out in between them. San finds himself shrouded in cold water, like he slipped into a corner of the Pacific Ocean and the currents were pulling at his toes, and his blood is iced and it’s seeping into his muscles with the way he was smiling at him like saccharine was his make up, as if the lollipop was meant to be between his lips only and nobody else’s. 

He was intimidating, like how moonlight glosses over navy waves as soon as the tide lowers at night, in the way he practically rippled as the wind picked up over his oversized hoodie and whispered through the black cloak of enigma following behind him, setting a sense of depth in San’s recesses just by the way he _smiled_ at him tonight. 

He found it almost too threatening.

San watches as he strides into his apartment, nearly floating like a specter in the flickering light above him, shutting the door softly and leaving San to pry his feet off the floor. His face was hot, ears soaked in rose petal, and he has never wanted to get into his apartment so quickly in his life as the trees laughed at him when another breeze blew, and he was embarrassing himself in front of the fireflies and the students in the dorms at his university and everybody that lived in this dumb, embarrassing town.

Yeosang gets the door open, after much expected effort, their living room light on, and there was the sound of a familiar ad running on their television about toothpaste, San glancing up as he steps into their apartment after Yeosang, trying to leave his embarrassment on the doorstep.

“Dude. Did you see that guy?” San comments on the boy that just handcuffed him to the moon and threw the key into the Green Mountain Reservoir where it settled in between broken seashells at the bottom of the lake, trapping him with almost no effort.

“Yeah.” Yeosang shrugs, _nonchalantly._ “I just hope he’s not too loud. I kinda liked having no neighbors.”

San blinks, thinking that seeing someone like that should have earned more than just a shrug. “What did you think of him?” He asks, and Yeosang disappears into the kitchen with his empty milkshake cup, making his way to the trash as San planted himself in the middle of their hallway, thinking and blushing and feeling like a complete fool.

Yeosang nods. “He looks an awful lot like the transfer student.”

San feels his entire soul leave his body, like when you’re on a rollercoaster and there’s a sudden drop that nobody warned you about before going on, his head filling with sirens again. They weren’t so soft this time, blaring, and he feels his right ear give way. _“What?”_

“Yeah. Looked kinda like Jung Wooyoung.” Yeosang takes off his shoes as he passes the door again.

And Yeosang seemed like he cared too little about it, having a secret like that to end the entire world and he didn’t even care.

Should San care? He didn’t really know what to think.

“Don’t obsess over our neighbor. You’re gonna scare him away.” Yeosang tells him, and he’s now in the living room and sits on the couch, Yunho’s voice loud as he greets them and distracts him for a moment, like a hammer to thin porcelain.

“Bold of you to assume I would ever speak to people I don’t know!” San sounds like a child as he tries to defend himself, feels like Yeosang was telling all of his secrets Yunho right now as they sat on the couch. He could easily translate what they were talking about into _h_ _ey, did you know that San thinks Wooyoung might be his soulmate? San thinks our neighbor next door is cute, did you know that? He thinks Wooyoung probably has CIPA, too!_

“Sannie, come here!” Yunho calls, and San breaks the path he was taking to his room, beelining to the living room where Yunho sat on the couch, right in the middle of watching Ouran, Yeosang sitting to his left and resting his head on Yunho’s lap, taking up the rest of the couch like he was supposed to.

San spots Jongho on the loveseat beside the couch, the grey plush suiting him in his pajamas and messy black hair, an arm thrown over the armrest behind his head, the other over his stomach. He looks at San, his eyes like diamonds, and his mouth curls up into a sweet smile that could brighten moonless nights, always making him look like he was happy to see him.

San could tell he was tired tonight.

“Hey!” Jongho reaches out his hand for San, but he should know by now that a hand wouldn’t be enough, considering he hasn’t seen San since yesterday morning. “I missed you.”

San nearly slips in his socks as he rushes for Jongho, hearing him literally deflate underneath his weight but he’s _got_ to get to a comfortable spot before he has a change of heart. He brings his legs up to tangle them in between Jongho’s, tucking one arm in between the space of his back and the loveseat, resting his head on his chest and hearing his heart echo into his ear, thumping Wooyoung right out the other side. He was slotted in between the small space between the back of the loveseat and Jongho, holding onto the fabric of his shirt.

Jongho sighs through his nose, and San could practically see Jongho’s mouth in a thin line as he looks at Yunho and Yeosang, being one to hate stuff like this. San knew all about how affection and Jongho mixed perfectly, like oil and water. They looked like they belonged together, yet, never fit.

But San secured his spot in time. He couldn’t move him anyway.

“How come you let San cuddle you but not us?” Yunho asks him, and Jongho brings the arm that was over the armrest and lets it rest over San’s shoulder.

“I’ll allow it.”

And as his eyes felt heavier, as his skull and head and skin felt looser, as the cartoon runs over his friends’ conversations, soaking San in distractions, yet not helping his case, all San could think about was Jung Wooyoung.

Imagine it, he lived _right beside_ him. 

Even when his roommates went to sleep, as San was up and playing on his phone under the protection of his blanket, alone with the whispers of the moon and the shade of the nightfall, Wooyoung lingered in the back of his head like a permanent stamp, flashes of his red hoodie and black hair and lollipop stick between his lips stashed in his head and he wanted more than anything to get him off his mind.

It was kind of gross how much he’s thought of him since they saw each other in the hallway.

Jung Wooyoung was gross, too. 

Yeah. 

Very, very gross.


	3. dimples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello so as u can tell by the tags i literally have no idea what im doing bUT 
> 
> ive written a lot, and im liking it so far! i only hope that you do too!
> 
> please enjoy!

Next door being vacant had been one of the main reasons San really liked living in his apartment more than he should’ve.

It was having the freedom to shout at his television during horror movies when nobody else was home, or to not be embarrassed about chatting on the phone too loudly or cursing in frustration when he couldn’t figure out his homework for the day that made him really love being here.

Imagine how big of a bummer it was to find out they had a neighbor that could easily hear San’s phone conversations and curses to his computer through his kitchen if he was quiet enough.

Imagine how even _bigger_ of a bummer it was to find out their neighbor himself didn’t really care that he lived next to people, and on this particular Monday morning, when San had his only early class in a few hours, he found he really wasn’t okay with listening to Wooyoung’s bed frame knock against the wall, relentless and annoying and so incredibly uncomfortable as the sound echoed into his room, bludgeoning the silences and hammering irritation into San’s chest. 

In fact, he despised it a whole lot more than he really cared to.

“Dude...that guy is so… _damn_ loud. It’s literally been…two days since he got here…” Jongho yawns into his hand as he rests his head in San’s lap, finding lullabies in the soft white stars that bled into the ceiling from his galaxy projector and sang against the dark, the need for sleep draining out of his skin and bleeding into the entire apartment as San felt like crawling back under his bedsheets and just hoping for the best. 

Yeosang and Yunho had always been heavy sleepers, so the fact that they didn’t budge to this wasn’t surprising. San _did,_ and he made his way into Jongho’s room to try to sleep once the walls had woke him up, but finding him awake and rustling through his nightstand aimlessly to try and find his noise-canceling headphones to save himself from a sleepless night crushed his dreams of sleeping in peace tonight. 

“I know. My room is right next to his, apparently. It’s louder in there.” San says, the dull knocks feeling like sharp stabs to his chest and he tried _hard_ to ignore the voices on the other side. San rubbed his tired eyes while the other hand played with Jongho’s hair, picking up pieces and watching in the blackberry wash of his bedroom as strands of raven softly fell back onto his forehead.

“I think we should…go and…beat him up…” Jongho’s voice was worn and exhausted, like tire marks against asphalt, and San felt bad because he knew he had early classes more often than not and needed every bit of sleep he could get before then. 

“You kidding? I would never be able to.” San says, noticing the beats against the wall had slowed down, yet he knew they would probably start up again soon, and his bones feel stale and his blood feels cold and the air itself feels exhausted as the silence in between them was once again filled with noise.

He felt _so_ awkward, on top of that.

“You _literally_ know martial arts,” Jongho says, not really paying attention to the situation except for the fact that he needed to sleep as soon as possible and those knocks were more than aggravating.

And as San looks down at Jongho, he sees that there’s no blush on his face or anything. There were under San's skin and he thinks he’s a little too calm in all of this.

“What would I even tell him, Jongho? ‘Hey, can you guys please find a way to fuck each other quieter? Me and my roommate can’t sleep.’”

“Whoa, whoa…They might not be doing that. Maybe…they’re just _jumping_ on the bed. Hammering a painting…to the wall. Making a beat…for a new song. Maybe Wooyoung is a songwriter and…and this is the only way he gets inspired…you don’t know…” Jongho speaks like a soft bog, tired and delirious as he yawns again into his hand, shutting his eyes. His voice reminded San of grey clouds before a thunderstorm, and he feels the looming threat of Jongho falling asleep on him while the knocks weren’t as prominent anymore.

San rolls his eyes anyway. “Definitely not.”

“I’m so tired, San. You gotta go tell him. You’re older, so…you gotta.” Jongho rolls over in San’s lap, hiding his face in his stomach with his eyes still closed once the stars in his room had become too bright, completely turning off in a peaceful ruse as if they weren’t in the middle of planning a heist to Jung Wooyoung’s apartment at three in the morning.

“You gotta be awake, Jongho. I can’t do it by myself.”

And when Jongho shakes his head, taking another breath and falling heavy in San’s lap, he sighs, his heart picking up when the realization settles in that he has to go and talk to the boy who’s been on his mind for the last couple of days, to go interrupt him at almost 3:45am and ask him and whoever he was with to be quiet. This is going to be their very first conversation on top of that.

How terrible (but San didn’t know which part was bothering him more).

San pushes Jongho off of him before he gets the chance to think too much, who sprawls in the middle of his bed on his back and has his eyes still shut, as he mentally prepares himself to go talk to a stranger. Wooyoung had been so intimidating to him in just those few seconds of looking at each other, he knew that if he stuttered or lost his train of thought in front of him, it would be the absolute end of him and he didn’t know if he was ready for that kind of humiliation. 

It takes a lot for him to just get to the door, but he ends up just leaving his apartment after slipping on his white shoes, shutting the door behind him carefully to not wake Yeosang and Yunho. 

At this point, though, he didn’t think it would have made a difference anyway.

The sky must have known he was nervous, because the breezes coming from the sea were a lot colder, and the moon seemed brighter, as if shining him in a spotlight to make sure he didn’t mess this up, his partner in crime gone and he had to carry the entire plan out by himself. The stars had withdrawn, too, and as the entire world fell silent again, he realized he didn’t hear any noise coming from Wooyoung’s apartment anymore while he was out here.

It was at this moment when he thought he should turn back, to not bother him because _really,_ he wasn’t _seriously_ making noise right _now._ San believes there was here was no need to bother him.

San stands still, wanting nothing more than to turn around and slip back into bed, his feet feeling too big for his shoes as the urge to get under his blanket and sleep before Wooyoung had a chance to keep him awake again was heavy in his chest.

But there was something about her laugh that made rattled San's chest, made his ears bleed, and his skin prickle. It made him start again, made him keep going until he reached Wooyoung’s door. He would never think, even remotely, that it was jealousy, more along the lines of being a good friend and doing it for Jongho. 

The paint on the door was white, slightly less dirty than his own considering no one had been here for a while, with chips in the creases near the dull number plaque. 

San sighs softly, sighs out all of his apprehensions and tensions to blow away from him, running a hand through his black hair and wiping his clammy palms on his pajama pants, his heart thumping heavily in his chest as his stomach plummets, battling his head into just knocking and _asking._

It wasn’t so hard to do. _Just_ _knock._

San raises his hand, feeling like bricks and cement and everything else that was too heavy for San to be able to lift up, and knocks, the wooden door made of stone and he could practically feel his knuckles shatter as he imagines what Wooyoung looks like now, hair messed and wild and his cheeks probably flushed a frosted ruby. He swallows and looks at his shoes.

San _really_ wants to leave.

Wooyoung opens the door after a while, the nighttime rushing into his apartment while the air rushes out of San's lungs, feeling common in the sense that he felt trapped, though he had the entire world to fall back on behind him and it really shouldn’t have taken him this much effort. His mouth is parted with the beginning of his thought, but as he looks at Wooyoung, studies how the stars had found refuge in the light freckles scattered over his nose and how he looked at San with midnight behind his eyes, he can’t fish the words out of his throat to talk to him.

San tries not to notice the silver ring in his nose, either, glinting in the lights of the hallway and demanding attention, much like everything else Wooyoung did, or the faint mahogany blushed over his lips or how messy black hair (just as San thought) _really_ suited someone like him. Wooyoung raises his dark eyebrows, and San can’t tell if it’s from confusion or the irritation that he’s so heavily anticipated from him. He slides his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, halfway zipped and obviously thrown on in a rush, yet he didn’t have the same energy to don a shirt.

San holds onto the back of his neck as he tries to think of what to say, nerves and anxieties seeping into his skin and finding their way into his bones as he looks at Wooyoung, closer than the other night and just as captivated as he was back then, if not, more. He’s really got to stop thinking so much. It was just a conversation, there was no need to get this choked up.

This was embarrassing.

“Do you need something?” 

He was obviously annoyed, and for some reason, San feels guilty in disturbing whatever he had been doing in his apartment with whoever he’d been doing it _with._ If it were him, he wouldn’t like getting interrupted, either.

He almost wants to apologize.

“Um…” San was losing confidence, _fast,_ “I don’t mean to be one of _those_ neighbors but...could you please quiet down? It’s a-almost four. My roommate and I have an early class today. If you could just...do it a little quieter, please?” San wants to cringe at exactly what came out of his mouth, but instead, he offers the fakest genuine smile he could muster, the one that really showed off his dimples and made his eyes squint up so that it at least _felt_ genuine enough and increased his chances of getting what he wanted.

Wooyoung looks at him as if he was two feet tall, and San could practically hear everything he was thinking about him, echoing in his own head and picking at the facade he’d conjured in the forty-second journey from here to his apartment. He watches as Wooyoung takes in his face, and he suddenly feels insecure as his eyes stop at his nose, then his own, then to his mouth and the soft beauty mark he had on his chin. 

San looks at the floor again, trying to shield himself from Wooyoung because confidence was never a tool in his arsenal and there was no way he could fight him empty-handed like this.

Absolutely no way.

Maybe this was a bad idea. San couldn’t keep up with someone like Jung Wooyoung.

Wooyoung tsks, his eyes at San’s lips again while he flicked his tongue over his own. “That’s too bad, Dimples. There’s an apartment downstairs that’s empty, but it’s right above the boiler room so it might get hot sometimes. Maybe that might be better for you and your roommate.”

San never really expected much from him, if he was being honest, but that was everything that he _didn’t,_ and the fact that Wooyoung seriously had no regard for his neighbors made the want to try and be nice to him from now on completely dissipate under his gaze. 

He also doesn’t know if he was so upset at him because of the name he called him or exactly what he said to him.

“Are you kidding?” San asks, but it comes out in more of a statement rather than an open-ended question that Wooyoung could answer. 

Annoyance settled into his skin, itchy and merciless, and he wanted to tell Wooyoung off, maybe to go fuck himself once or twice over, but there was something about the way he was standing with his hands in his pockets, as if he owned the entire apartment complex and the rest of the world and San was lucky enough to even be talking to him, that made San quickly put out his fuse.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” 

San looks at him incredulously, humiliation and irritation perched on his shoulders because he couldn’t get through to him, and he completely threw him in for a loop that he didn’t plan ahead for. He should have known, considering Yeosang and Yunho had both told him he’d be an asshole.

It was different when he experienced it in person.

“Quiet down, or I’ll have you out of here. We’re not moving.” San thinks Wooyoung was too bold for his own good, and despite his own threats feeling like small pebbles thrown at a window, he really hoped he was inflating himself enough for Wooyoung to take him seriously, because the way he was looking at him made him feel very dumb and very minute and he hated it more than anything.

“Have me out of here? You can _try_ it, but I promise you, it won’t work. Don't know if you've noticed, but the landlord only cares about money.” Wooyoung’s mouth is in that half-moon smile again, except it was different from the other night, awful and pretentious, and San questions whether or not he _really_ smiled at him or not. 

If he did, he was very good at being fake. Fake _and_ patronizing, probably the worst mix he could get.

“Why—”

“Are we done here? I have stuff to do.” Wooyoung tilts his head slightly, the dim lights of the hallway highlighting everything that San was trying not to look at, trying not to regard because he would be hopeless if he didn’t stand his ground.

It was hard, but he was trying.

“Can you do the _stuff_ a little quieter? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you asked.” San feels his voice raise, trying his best not to get frustrated and sock Wooyoung in his face (being an exception to his martial arts training), and Wooyoung’s eyebrows come together as his stupid, awful smile fades.

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend?”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up as he smiles again, and San sees his chest skip with a quiet laugh. “It’s gonna be _so_ crazy when you find out he’s just a hookup.”

San doesn’t know how someone can be so good at crushing him by just talking, with no one around them to boot. Another cold wind passes by, runs a chill through him despite him being hot with embarrassment. And as if Wooyoung can hear his thoughts, he smirks at him, possessed with mischief and San doesn’t know if he wants him to speak again, doesn't know if he wants to hear what Wooyoung was going to say next.

“What, are you _jealous_ or something? You’re blushing like crazy.”

And it was here when San wanted to die. He would really love nothing more if the earth swallowed him whole, just for him to forget about this entire night and maybe the part where he learned how to speak to people. The route he was going down now was a prime example of how much it didn’t work.

“N-no! Don’t say stupid shit like that, just…! Be quieter, _okay?”_

San wants to slap that grin off of Wooyoung’s face because he knew exactly what he was doing and _exactly_ how to crumple San up into a ball and toss him in the trash, so effortless in making him tiny when he was the one who came here to yell at him.

Why did it have to be him? If Jongho did it, he would have had better luck, he would have just _had_ to.

“Alright, alright. I’ll quiet down.” Wooyoung steps back and has a hand on the back of the door, getting ready to close it.

“Seriously?” San asked, hopeful in the fact that him coming here worked, that the humiliation was worth it to get some sleep for the both of them this morning.

“No.”

And with that, San is met with the white painted face of the door, left alone and buzzing brightly against the dark like an old lightbulb. More breezes blew against him, tangled in his hair, and slinked through his clothes, yet, he could only feel heat radiating from his skin into his blood. He’s never been manipulated like that before in his life, Wooyoung knocking him down as effortlessly as he had kept building him up, like pulling out the ace of spades in his house of cards every time he made a new one. 

He finds himself back in Jongho’s bed, who had fallen asleep in the time it took for San and Wooyoung to get acquainted with each other, watching his stars glow above him while the last half hour rewinds in his head for the nth time since coming back into the apartment, making his head spin and his blood boil.

He couldn’t believe this.


	4. the boiler room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the gc
> 
> this is based off of my gc so it's a little bit cracked out and vulgar with a teensy bit of weird humor so if you dont like that/would rather not read, please feel free to skip it! it's not a vital part of the story c:
> 
> also! i hope this doesn't come off as conceited or anything like that! but i just wanna say thank you very much if you're still here! i understand very long and spaced out updates can be annoying, but i'm done with my exams and school ends this week, so i'll be writing a lot more. i know it's not a big deal, but to see the kudos and comments on this makes me very motivated to do better. i hope you guys are truly liking this so far!! i appreciate everything so much, thank you! <33333
> 
> enjoy!

**jongho:** _GUESS WHO GOT SAN TO GO TALK TO WOOYOUNG LAST NIGHT_

 **jongho:** _EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU CHOI JONGHO_

**_dude_**

**_i cannot fucking stand that kid_ **

**_i hate u for falling asleep on me and making me go by myself!!_ **

**yeosangie:** _oop_

 **gigi:** _wait what_

 **gigi:** _jung wooyoung?? i didnt know u two knew each other_

 **jongho:** _wait wdym u cant stand him_

 **yeosangie:** _wait_ _mingi u know him??_

 **gigi:** _yeah we’re friends hes in my organic chem class_

 **gigi:** _i never understood why hes in it considering hes a telecom major but u know whatever!! hes cool!! very chill very nice very good skater_

 **hwa:** _THANK YOU JONGHO!!_

 **hwa:** _or wait no thank u jongho?? confused :|_

 **hongjoong:** _just woke up wtf goes on_

 **hongjoong:** _oh yall are talking about wooyoung??? goodnight guys <333_

**_thinking about him literally makes me wanna rip my hair out_ **

**_u guys i could not BELIEVE_ **

**_i went over to ask him to stop being so loud_ **

**_bc me and jongho were up at 4 and he had class today at 6 and me at 6:30_ **

**_and he had the audacity to tell me to MOVE DOWNSTAIRS IN THE EMPTY APARTMENT_ **

**_IM LIKE ?????_ **

**_he was so patronizing_ **

**_and MEAN_ **

**_and made me feel like a FOOL!!_ **

**_i tried to be nice but_ **

**_oh my GOD i hate that kid he could go choke_ **

**jongho:** _well!_

 **jongho:** _what an unfortunate turn of events :| sorry sannie_

 **yeosangie:** _well_ _there goes sans love life :|_

 **yu:** _WAIT WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN_

 **hwa:** _thats so mean wtf :((_

 **gigi:** _disappointed but cannot say im surprised_

**_AND THEN!!! HE ASKED ME IF I WAS JEALOUS WHEN I ASKED ABOUT HIS BOYFRIEND_ **

**_TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE_ **

**_THAT WAS SO EMBARRASSING OH MY GOD_ **

**hwa:** _WHY DID U ASK ABOUT HIS BOYFRIEND FSFDDFKJSDFJDS_

 **yu:** _u just asking that i think made matters worse_

 **yeosangie:** _see now you set yourself up for that one baby_

 **gigi:** _u asked ab his boyfriend??? now why would u go and do that_

**_IDK MAN I JUST SAID PLS QUIET DOWN WITH UR GIRLFRIEND_ **

**_CUZ I COULDA SWORN I HEARD A LAUGH THAT SOUNDED LIKE A GIRL_ **

**_AND HE WAS LIKE ITS GONNA BE SO CRAZY WHEN U FIND OUT THAT HES JUST A HOOKUP_ **

**_LIKE??? WHAT_ **

**_WHO SAYS THAT TO A STRANGER_ **

**_WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME I S2G_ **

**_IS IT BC IM GAY_ **

**gigi:** _hate 2 say it but i think its because ur a comp sci major_

**_shut up pre law u have no rights around here!_ **

**gigi:** _:0_

 **yeosangie:** _well,,, were u jealous of his boyfriend???_

 **jongho:** _idk sounds 2 me like u were jealous of his boyfriend_

 **hwa:** _but were u jealous tho_

 **yeosangie:** _the fact that all three of us sent that at the same time_

 **hwa:** _we share one (1) brain cell (◡‿◡✿)_

**_no u absolute fools_ **

**_i dont know him like that_ **

**_how can i be jealous of his stupid boyfriend if i dont know him_ **

**_plus i dont even care about that kid_ **

**_plus i dont even care about his stupid boyfriend hookup guy_ **

**yu:** _god dont like liars san :|_

 **jongho:** _hmmm_

 **yeosangie:** _but u were kinda into him at one point_

 **yeosangie:** _remember?? u were in the hallway and when u saw him u were like “omg yeosang did u see him im gonna suck his dick blah blah blah”_

 **hongjoong:** _:0_

 **hongjoong:** _WHAT_

**_OH MY GOD_ **

**_I HATE YOU_ **

**gigi:** _HE SAID WHAT_

**_YOU REALLY HAD TO TELL THE WHOLE GC_ **

**jongho:** _eye—_

 **yu:** _WHAT_

 **gigi:** _SAN_

 **hongjoong:** _SAN YOU SAID THAT FOR REAL_

 **hongjoong:** _GOOD LORD_

**_NO STOP_ **

**_I DIDNT_ **

**_JEHFISNSODJEID_ **

**_OMG_ **

**_I DIDNT SAY THAT LAST PART HES FIBBING HES A FIBBER_ **

**yeosangie:** _the blah blah blah part???_

**_PRETEND U DO NOT SEE_ **

**_NO YEOSANG OH MY GOD_ **

**hongjoong:** _cannot believe our innocent baby angel san would say such a thing_

 **jongho:** _hes not our angle anymore (╥_╥)_

 **yeosangie:** _YES HE SAID THAT I COULDNT BELIEVE IT_

 **yu:** _they grow up so fast wow_

**_YEOSANG IM GONNAKILL U_ **

**_STOPPPPPP_ **

**hwa:** _shhh lets just pretend he wasnt_

 **hwa:** _we dont know a wooyoung_

 **yu:** _i didnt think he’d be that bad tbh :((_

 **gigi:** _he usually is_

 **gigi:** _u gotta get to know him tho_

 **gigi:** _hes like one of tHOSE friends u know?_

 **hongjoong:** _no i do not know_

 **yu:** _hongjoong dont you have like another nap to take_

 **hongjoong:** _oh cuz i thought a premed who goes to sleep early just to go to class and nap during his lectures said something_

 **yu:** _and what about it?_

 **jongho:** _sannie did u get some sleep at least??_

**_mingi idk how u could stand him_ **

**_i literally wanted to kill him_ **

**_and we spoke for like twenty minutes max_ **

**_and yes i got some sleep!_ **

**_exactly forty two minutes_**

**_and then i had to wake up and go to class_ **

**gigi:** _what time did he stop???_

**_idk i think the guy left at like 5_ **

**_it was right before jongho left_ **

**_im so fucking tired_ **

**yu:** _sorry sannie :((_

 **yeosangie:** _if hes loud tonight we should all just,,,, jump him_

 **gigi:** _im probably gonna hang w him later today_

 **gigi:** _if u want i could b like “sooo ur neighbor huh”_

 **gigi:** _if u need to come over to sleep my apartment is always open 4 u!!!_

 **gigi:** _plus im sure hwanwoong wouldnt mind_

**_i dont wanna make this into a bigger deal than it really is_ **

**_it's not a big deal_ **

**_but thanks mingi i love u <33_ **

**gigi:** _shut up i’ll kiss u_

 **yu:** _wait i wanna kiss san first_

 **jongho:** _no i call dibs_

 **hwa:** _wth no i get to kiss san first_

 **hongjoong:** _wait what if i wanna kiss san first i didnt even get a say_

 **yeosangie:** _what in the hell_

 **jongho:** _wait if san leaves then i wont have anyone to sleep with tonight :(((_

 **yu:** _u can sleep w me!! i’ll b home_

 **hongjoong:** _omg what my roomies dont ever sleep w me :((_

 **hongjoong:** _fuck u guys, im coming over_

 **gigi:** _well if hongjoongs coming over i am too tf_

**_wait—_ **

**hwa:** _SLUMBER PARTY!!!_

**_wait i have to clean—_ **

**yu:** _OMG YEA SLUMBER PARTY TONIGHT_

**_and the snacks—_ **

**yeosangie:** _we should be really loud and when wooyoung comes to tell us to be quiet we should tell him to move downstairs on top of the boiler room_

 **gigi:** _that part SENT me i still cant believe he told san that_

 **gigi:** _like fuck everything go move lmao_

 **jongho:** _and then we steal his money!!_

**_JONGHO NO_ **

**yu:** _JONGHO WE CANNOT STEAL HIS MONEY_

 **hongjoong:** _ffs can yall stay on one (1) topic_

 **hwa:** _u expect way too much from us joongie </3_


	5. the roof

San finds himself up on the roof this evening, letting his head loll back as he faces the sky, the moon warming his skin as the stars settled themselves in his hair.

The more time he spends out here, the more he thinks that he would live up here if he could.

It was like his own cove, where the sea was in the sky and he was protected by his thoughts as the warm street lamps glowed below him in his company. Being out here at night was one of the many things that San always looked forward to, rather being out here than in his empty apartment. Yunho had gone out with Mingi while Jongho and Yeosang had class, so being alone in the apartment with nothing to do was less than favorable, and it didn’t help that San got lonely easily.

His head had been filled with school, with his friends, with his shitty neighbor and the song he heard Yunho playing in the shower the other day. He still couldn’t believe how their interaction went, harping on it since then and cringing at everything he said, everything he _could_ have said that would have shut Wooyoung up, but didn’t. Over the many scenarios that San’s created in his head, never once did he think it would go like that.

The universe was too unfair sometimes.

San focuses on the street below him, kicking his legs back and forth and feeling how gravity was tugging at the toes of his shoes, how it ran through his laces, and pulled at his hair over his eyes when he leaned forward a bit. There was nobody out tonight, probably because it was a weekday and people had better things to do, like study. And though he wasn’t alone, he still somehow felt lonely on the roof of his apartment complex as he played with a frayed thread in his sweatshirt sleeve, and he wondered how Yunho and Mingi were up to, hoping Jongho didn’t fall asleep in class and imagining what Yeosang was doing as his teacher spoke in the lecture tonight.

And as the door to the roof opens, San’s heart kickstarts once he hears him, his voice entirely booting him from his peace and silence as his chest ran like a piston engine in his ears.

“Ugh, do you _have_ to ruin everything, or do I just have bad luck?” Wooyoung’s voice was distant, yet it felt almost too close, as if he was speaking directly into his ear, and San shudders.

He swallows, a shade of nerves showering over him and raining goosebumps over his skin as Wooyoung shuts the door of the roof behind him, and San could hear chains jingling against themselves as he comes towards him, his footsteps daring, yet hesitant, as if San was a ghost he should have been afraid of but never would be.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The desire to get out of here and just spend the rest of the night in his bedroom while Wooyoung was out of his apartment was growing by the second, and San would have swiveled his legs around to leave had Wooyoung not been right behind him. “What the hell do you want?”

San glances over to him, his hair a mirage of navy in the moonlight as he twists a lollipop stick in his mouth, the moon glinting off of the frame of his specs and the hoop in his nose again. San sees the jingling had come from the chains attached to his belt loops, and the other from around his neck, his thumb hooked in the front pocket of his pants. He looked so normal, so _good,_ as if he was a poster child for how college kids should actually look and carry themselves, as if they were actual adults who knew what they were doing.

“Whoa, is that _any_ way to greet your new neighbor?” 

And San can tell Wooyoung was on the evil side of the spectrum, like an imp on his shoulder, with the way he tilted his head and acted like nothing happened the other day. He sighs, his voice annoying him in the way it sounded pretty, like bells, in the way it was friendly and completely contradictory to how he really was. 

Wooyoung seemed to really have a knack for being fake.

“Shut up. I’m leaving.” San _does_ swivel his legs around this time, almost kicking Wooyoung in his groin had he not been careful enough to gauge his movements and move out of the way.

San wished Wooyoung stayed still.

“Wait, don’t leave.” Wooyoung pulls the lollipop out of his mouth, his bottom lip glossed with what San assumed was cherry from how vibrant the crimson color of the candy was in his hand, and he stops, trying not to look Wooyoung in the face because he knew how easily he could break him down by just looking at him. “Stay with me.”

He’s got to stand his ground, especially after what happened the other day.

“I’m gonna try and go get some sleep _now_ before you go and fuck everything up later.” He almost regrets it when it comes out of his mouth. Almost.

San doesn’t know where he’s gotten this from, considering he didn’t even talk to Yeosang like this when they joke around, but there was something about the way Wooyoung looked so calm and serene behind his specs, with that tiny hint of confusion in his face, that made San feel guilty. It felt like he was being the shitty neighbor, rather than it being the other way around.

He looks at Wooyoung’s shoes instead of his face.

“Are you still mad about that? Come _on_ , Dimples. Lighten up.”

 _Lighten up,_ as if. 

San hears the name in his head again, bouncing off the walls and drilling holes in his chest. He feels his cheeks warm at the thought of Wooyoung paying enough attention to him to comment on something like his fucking _dimples._ Did he notice anything else? San runs his hand over his chin and shakes his head.

He decided right now that he hated that name, especially when it came out of Wooyoung’s mouth.

“D-don’t call me that,” San tells him, letting his eyes focus on the generator to his left, surprisingly quiet in it being an old apartment complex, yet the whirring of it felt like a hoard of mosquitoes in San's head and he hated it and it was grilling against his head.

“You got something else I could call you?” Wooyoung asks, pressing the lollipop back into his mouth and sliding his hand back into his pocket, letting his weight rest on his back leg and it made him look almost too casual, as if they were casual friends and having a _casual_ conversation on the roof of their apartments.

San thinks he was anything but.

“San. That’s my name.” San’s voice comes out like glass marbles, scattered and unpredictable as soon as it leaves him, as he thinks of how they looked right now. He didn’t like being so unsure of himself, on top of all of that.

He didn’t like Wooyoung.

“Hm. I like Dimples better.” And he could _feel_ Wooyoung staring at him, taking in all his flaws and insecurities and magnifying them under the way he was studying, as if he belonged framed in a museum, and San honestly couldn’t stand the attention. 

He wants to leave.

“That’s so lame. And stupid.” He mutters to him, and while San is trying to claw his way out of the miserable, stagnant silence that Wooyoung has buried him in, the other seemed to feel at home, as if he did this on the daily.

San would have believed it. Wooyoung was very overwhelming.

“Yeah? So is San.”

San feels offense rise in his throat once Wooyoung says that, his name being one of the things he really liked about himself because it was so simple. Many people had names that meant crazy things, like _defender of men_ and _brave divinity_.

He was just San. Nobody bothered to ask what his name meant because it was _just_ _San._

San is blushing again and his eyebrows come together as heat rises into his cheeks once Wooyoung cloaks him in another fit of embarrassment. “Y-yeah? Well, so is Wooyoung.”

“How do you know my name?”

San feels like he truly did get caught, like he snuck into a house and the alarm was going off right in front of him, and once he was stuck in between trying to make an excuse or telling him the truth about asking about him, Wooyoung smirks at him, his eyes holding vigilance, and San was sure he wouldn’t have to tell him for him to really know.

“You’ve been asking about me, Dimples?”

“N-no!" San squeaks, sounding so guilty. He takes a shaky breath, quickly, feeling like he'd gotten in trouble, surrounded by police cars with the helicopters above him and everything. "No. I know your brother. People were…” San swallows the lump in his throat, but it feels like it was made of cement mixed with every uncertainty Wooyoung could pull from San in this instance. “You were…you were being talked about.”

“Really?” Wooyoung asks this in a more matter-of-fact way, and while he twists the lollipop stick in his mouth again, the moon mirrored in the silver band around his middle finger, San can’t help but feel intimidated again. It’s like he knew he would be talked about at school, because everyone was so afraid of the rumored dangerous transfer student, who left his old school because he killed someone or something along those lines.

And Wooyoung _did_ know, but really just left because he got accepted into the honors program here, being one of the most prestigious in the country, but he wouldn’t say anything. Besides, it sounded lame compared to the other reasons he’s heard around the school.

“Yeah. Yes. Are we done here? I want to leave.” San tells him, but the last bit kind of comes out in one word and Wooyoung tsks, shaking his head curtly, as if he could see San wanted to leave for different reasons.

“Come _on_. Stay out here with me. My friend’s having a gig later tonight so I need to pass the time somehow. Let’s be friends.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t wanna be friends with you, you’re mean.” San complains to him, and he somehow feels like they’re children again, going back and forth to each other in their conversations before they would go play together in the sandbox.

It almost sounded like him and Yeosang. Almost.

“Maybe I’m only mean to you because I’m in love with you. Ever consider that? How boys bully people they like because they _like_ them? You shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.”

San feels like the neon pink flashes of an open sign, feeling like Wooyoung was exposing him to everything he'd rather shy away from, as if he'd been put on display for everyone in their neighborhood to see. He could practically translate what Wooyoung said into _yeah, you wish I was in love with you, don't you?_

Choi San is hopeless.

“Y-yeah, I’ve heard of that. About toddlers.” San folds his arms over his chest to try and keep any other thoughts about what he just said out of his head, as he watches Wooyoung bite off the rest of his lollipop, tossing the stick over the wall of the roof. “Even so, it’s a terrible way to make me fall in love with you back.”

Wooyoung was both a flirt and an asswipe. Again — a very dangerous combination.

“Okay, what if I asked you on a date, right now? Come with me to the gig later. I’ll introduce you to my friends, so they could stop asking me about a boyfriend.” Wooyoung says, as if it was nothing, but it ignited forest fires in San and made his stomach fall into space when he thought of it.

Jeez. 

“No. Go by yourself. I’m leaving.” San turns to leave before Wooyoung had another chance to stop him just by calling him that _dreaded nickname_ or something worse, his hand on the knob that led to the staircase.

“Fine. But I’m gonna get you to go out with me one day.” Wooyoung leans against the generator, running his tongue over his lips that San knew tasted like cherries (and then he stops imagining it), looking up at the moon and how easily Woyoung had taken over San’s favorite spot, just like that.

He practically flies down the stairs and back into his apartment, hoping Wooyoung missed his friend’s gig or got locked out on the roof before he disappeared back into his apartment, upset and annoyed and everything in between, because all Jung Wooyoung did, was truly ruin everything.

 _Unbelievable_.


	6. hoseok's stupid little brother

**_hey remember that guy that u were telling me about_ **

**_san_ **

**hobi:** _yeah what about him_

**_i think he lives right beside me_ **

**_he cant feel pain right_ **

**hobi:** _nah he cant_

 **hobi:** _i fucking cannot stand that kid tho_

 **hobi:** _i almost feel sorry for you_

**_why whats wrong with him_ **

**_what did he do_ **

**hobi:** _idk he’s just annoying_

 **hobi:** _u know when u just dont like someone_

**_no_ **

**_usually i have a good reason_ **

**_but ur weird so i wont ask_**

**hobi:** _whatever_

 **hobi:** _why what do u need with him_

**_what if i could make him feel pain_ **

**_bet money i can_ **

**_by the end of next month_ **

**hobi:** _what r u planning on beating him up or something???_

 **hobi:** _he cant feel it dumbass_

 **hobi:** _no bet it’s literally impossible_

**_come onnnn_ **

**_twenty five bucks_ **

**_if i fail then u get the 25_ **

**hobi:** _okay explain to me how it’ll work_

 **hobi:** _and if were gonna do it raise to fifty bc i know ur gonna fail_

 **hobi:** _gonna milk u for all ur worth_

**_i’ll figure something out_ **

**_i’ll bruise him_ **

**_and get my fifty bucks!_ **

**hobi:** _still doesnt explain anything but ok_

 **hobi:** _whatever u have till the end of next month_

 **hobi:** _just dont do anything stupid_

**_when have i ever been one to do something stupid_ **

**hobi:** _i could write u a double spaced 12 times new roman mla formatted and properly signed academic research essay on every stupid thing you have done_

 **hobi:** _remember when u brought a dive board to the lake ??_

 **hobi:** _and junhee almost died from it_

 **hobi:** _or when u tried to experiment with flame retardant and almost set urself on fire_

 **hobi:** _or when u thought swallowing a gumball would make u burp bubbles_

 **hobi:** _i could go on_

**_OKAY ENOUGH_ **

**_I GET IT_ **

**_anyway_ **

**_fifty bucks_ **

**_i have to go do web design hw goodbye_ **

**hobi:** _imagine having web design hw_

 **hobi:** _fucking nerd_

**_imagine majoring in PHILOSOPHY and calling me a nerd_ **

**hobi:** _when i become the next socrates ur gonna wish u were the smarter brother_

 **hobi:** _stupid bitch_

**_shut up_ **

**_make sure to save up fifty to give me by the end of next month <33_**

**hobi:** _ur so annoying u know that?_

 **hobi:** _****i cannot wait to see you fail_


	7. soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!!
> 
> i have a lot written for you, i really hope you like it and how the story is going!! if not, lmk what i could change or fix!!! i have more chapters that i'm happy with so far that i’ll post tomorrow, if you’re still here. i hope the pacing isnt as slow as my other oneefdfjskdhsdf
> 
> enjoy!

Hanging out with Yeosang was more therapeutic than San really ever cared for it to be.

It was calming, spending time with his best friend while the sun was still warm and blazing pale rays of lemonade over their apartment, gentle heat seeping into his skin as it melted through the window panes, casting pretty shapes over him. 

Yeosang had taken the opportunity of the apartment being only half full today to make lunch for the two of them, and while San let his thoughts dance on the black marble of the counter, he couldn’t help but watch him in the meantime.

He’d always looked so calm when he was doing something, anything by himself. San had always known Yeosang to be independent, remembering how much of a chore partner assignments were in middle school for both of them. And in the way the sunlight from outside poured over him, dressed him in a comely halo while kites sailed under his skin as he focused on the stove in front of him, San thinks he has the prettiest soulmate in the world, especially when he was in his element.

That reminds him...

“What exactly are we going to look for later?” San asks, listening as the heat began to cook whatever Yeosang had thrown in the pan (San being distracted by too many other things to really pay attention), making a sound of rain over the roof, humming through the kitchen.

“I need a new outfit for Jackson’s party,” Yeosang tells him, his voice soft and shallow, like low tide.

San’s eyebrows come together, a watery image of Jackson in his head as he remembers what he looks like, remembers his auburn hair and his lips and his shoes. He was one that threw the most parties in San’s entire college career. If there was something going on, chances are, Jackson was the one behind it, taking on the role of a cliche college kid just a little bit better than Yeosang.

Only a little. He had the one-up on the partying bit.

“You need a new outfit for it? You’re just gonna spill booze all over yourself like you always do.” San remembers the last party they were invited to (though, it felt more like they crashed it), with a drunk Yeosang trying to wash off his ruined t-shirt and entire body in the pool, while Mingi was dancing on countertops to slow songs and Hongjoong was chugging as much cherry cola as he could to win Jongho’s bet, before he threw up next to the mailbox in the front yard.

Jongho let him keep the money out of remorse.

“Hey, stop being a Negative Nancy. Don’t you know people change?” 

San listens to the scrape of Yeosang’s spoon over the bottom of the cast iron, his eyebrows coming together once his skin feels like ants again.

“No. People never change. Like you.” 

“Shush. I’ll show you. You’re coming, right?” Yeosang asks, and San nods, watching as he leaves the stove to grab two plates from their dish cabinet.

He sets them down on the island between them, an aroma of bell peppers and garlic in the air and it reminded San of his mom back at home, and how she would cook for them and put on a movie to watch afterward.

Things had always been so good back at home. Maybe it was just because he’d been away for so long, that made his mom’s house seem like a gilded fortress, made his old bed seem like feather heaps and his mom seem like the ocean after nightfall, her arms ready to pull him into her when his day was particularly terrible, her glittering smile in her happy radiance and the smothering love she gave off alike to the mouth of the sea.

He missed her a lot.

“Only if you are. I’ll be right back.” San tells him, getting up from his seat at the counter with his mother now on his mind instead.

The kitchen had been warmer than the entire apartment, Yeosang insisting on keeping the temperature cooler while Yunho and Jongho were out. There was something he said about brittle bones and two different wavelengths and stuff like that.

San always thought Yeosang was weird.

He gets to his phone, where it was charging beside his analog clock, completely empty of notifications or messages. 

Typically.

“Food’s done.” Yeosang’s voice carries as easily through the apartment as the perfume from the stove, until he hisses sharply and San could practically see his eyebrows come together. “Ah, fuck. What is Seonghwa _doing?”_ Yeosang is a bit quieter, asking out loud as if it would carry over to Seonghwa himself.

“Yeo? You okay?” San calls back to him as he sits on the bed and crosses his arms in his lap as he waits, and Yeosang tsks.

“Uh, yeah. Seonghwa must have fallen or something. My arm’s bleeding everywhere.” 

San hears the faucet begin to run.

“Are you bleeding all over the kitchen?” San makes a face, though Yeosang can’t see it, staring into the hardwood floor of his bedroom as he listens to him.

“No. It looks like a scrape. I need a bandaid, it’s everywhere.”

San somehow was able to ignore how easily they held this conversation.

“Could be your platonic soulmate that you have yet to meet.” 

He also tries to ignore how easily he said that out loud.

“San, please.” Yeosang rolls his eyes from where he was in the kitchen, though he remembers talking to San about the possibilities of that happening and maybe he was right. “I’m gonna text him to make sure he’s okay. Oh, and I don’t know what you did, but I got that stupid scrape on my shoulder, too. I didn’t feel it, but it bled a lot, all over my shirt. You gotta be more careful.” Yeosang tells him, and San hears dishes and what he assumed was Yeosang grabbing forks for them as the memory comes to mind.

His eyebrows bridge together as he thinks into the floor again, trying to figure out what he did that day, considering it happened so long ago. Yunho hadn’t said anything either, so it really must have been him.

Right?

“I guess.” San shrugs with dissonance as he folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t remember hurting myself, though.”

“You probably didn’t feel it. I didn’t, either.” 

“Yunho didn’t say anything about it.” 

And there was an actual possibility that was persistent in his head, putting periods and exclamation points at the end of his thoughts, but he tried to rule everything else out before he got to it.

“Maybe he forgot. Or! Maybe it’s your other soulmate.” Yeosang almost feels evil for teasing him like this, especially when he knew San was probably still worrying about it.

Yeosang added another period and maybe about a hundred more exclamations to San’s thoughts again.

“Well, they have to be yours, too, if you got the same scrape,” San tells him, and he hears Yeosang chuckle, but he was beginning to get weary the more he was alone in his room and listening to him, playing their conversation back.

For no reason, he knew — this happens to everyone.

“Maybe. Or maybe, Seonghwa _is_ your platonic. Maybe Jongho is secretly your romantic.”

“Fuck off, would you?” San’s face heats up at that, Yeosang easily putting those kinds of thoughts in his head, having no interest in Jongho but still letting himself blush at the idea.

“Hurry and come over! I don’t wanna eat by myself.”

San shakes his head in dismissal, typing his mom’s name into the message bar and watching the cursor blink blue, figuring out what to text her. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and beginning to type, but as he looks at his screen, he can’t help but notice the dark red blood in the creases of his thumbnail hovering over his keyboard.

He swallows, taking his hand away from his phone as his spine goes cold, and he sees it had dried into the creases of his middle and ring fingers while some smeared over the back of his phone case and stained crimson over his palm, staining his shirt and his jeans, right over his knee. 

There was something about San having a scrape in the same spot on his elbow as Yeosang, and then again with his shoulder while knowing neither of them caused it, something about the _confirmation_ of it, that kind of rubbed him the wrong way.

“San? You comin’?”

San blinks and locks his phone, going straight to the bathroom to wash off his hands, feeling ill, though this happens _all the time_. He should be more than used to it by now, more than normalized. “Uh, yeah. Yeo?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think it was Seonghwa.”

San waits for Yeosang, the faucet being almost too loud as he pumps soap onto his palm and watches the blood lift under the running water. “What?”

“You arm. It wasn’t Seonghwa.”

Yeosang doesn’t respond for a moment, the realization settling in as he washes his hands. 

San’s heart was beating quickly, and he tries to flood his head with the thought that it was _normal_ , that people discover stuff like this all the time. Maybe it was the fact that he was truly bleeding and seeing the evidence right in front of him that made it worse for him.

It was a surprise, but nowhere near pleasant.

“Don’t tell me we share the same soulmate.” Yeosang’s voice is light and amused and he was having more fun with this than San ever dared to.

“We share the same soulmate.”

And for a moment, Seonghwa pops into his head, then Wooyoung, then Jongho, then Hongjoong, and then Wooyoung again, like a burning movie reel stuck on repeat. He feels sick as he meets Yeosang in the kitchen, stomach bottomless as Yeosang was happily eating and kicking his legs lightly against the counter he sat at while San had no appetite at all. 

“Don’t be worried. We’ll meet them! Hopefully it’s someone cool. What if—” Yeosang gasps, the excitement of a child in his wide eyes. “What if they live in another _country_?” 

He wasn’t worried about it, just as he thought.

“What if we never find them? And we can’t tell them to be extra careful when they go out so we stop getting hurt?” San asks, thinking of him not knowing when he needed to go to the hospital and feeling even sicker. “If you are in the hospital and I’m not there, you have to tell me.

“As if I don’t already with you. At least you don’t have to worry about the pain. That’s a plus, right? We’ll find them. How cool is that? We share a soulmate!” Yeosang bounces on his seat at the counter at the realization, steam rising from his plate as he pushes it around and waits for it to cool.

And that first part made San feel awful, but he couldn’t show him anything other than a small smile because of how excited he was over the small fact that they both shared a soulmate. San mostly pokes around the food Yeosang made for him, taking a forkful of it, except it made his eyes water when he put it in his mouth, so he waits until Yeosang stopped blowing on the steam of his own to actually eat it. 

“They’re kinda clumsy, though. We might be a little screwed.” Yeosang tells him, making San’s stomach fall and his bones feel like dust at the thought of not knowing when he got hurt.

With everything going on, by the time Yeosang drags him out to the plaza and asks him how about ten different colored solid shirts looked on him, he realizes he forgot to text his mom.


	8. holding hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS sorry i was supposed to update these yesterday but i had to revise a lot
> 
> i hope u guys like it!! thank you for staying! <333
> 
> enjoy!

There was something strange about Jung Wooyoung.

Maybe it was in the way he’s been looking at him. Recently, his eyes almost always expected nearly too much, yet they were forgiving in the way they brought him back down once San got too shy to hold a conversation. Recently, they’ve begun to mirror stars. Maybe it was in the way he talked, how effortlessly he built conversations from whatever San would nervously whisper out to him on the rooftop, the chilling comfort of an intruder in his favorite place to hide bringing familiarity to his dormant heart.

Recently, Wooyoung’s meant a lot of things to him.

And San also thought they meshed well together, like they were supposed to be on the roof with each other more often than not. San was starting to hate that feeling — the one of always wanting to talk to him, yet coming up to dead ends or red traffic lights whenever he ventured away from their constant back and forths with each other. 

Even now, when they were sitting in silence under the wink of the stars in the middle of this weird awkwardness San had been backed up into, and he found himself wanting to go back into his apartment the more time passed by to hopefully forget about the last few weeks he’d known him.

Of course, he would never mention that, ever. He didn’t really like talking to Wooyoung, considering 9 times out of 10, he’d find a way to irritate him in jabs disguised as sarcasm, and soothe him over that last tenth time with a compliment that made his heart take off in rocketships and circle the moon.

San knew him enough.

He _also_ knew that he didn’t like either of the Jung brothers starting yesterday, and he hadn't gotten the chance to really know anything about them. It was their specialty to get others to hate them easily, it seems like.

“I’m surprised you haven’t left me yet,” Wooyoung says, watching the moon stay stagnant in the black ribbons of the sky, his voice cutting through their silence like a split down the Red Sea.

San sighs and looks at the street below him, trying to figure out exactly what they were doing out here on another Tuesday night.

“I wish you _would_ leave.” San’s voice harbors the remnants of annoyance from their last conversation, but his skin wasn’t squirming as much and he didn’t have the urge to want to rip Wooyoung’s head off as of late.

Things might change, though.

“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.” Wooyoung reminded San of one of those billionaires that lived in a house inside of a house, their voices sounding expensive, and their demeanor more than wealthy because they just _knew_ you couldn’t touch them.

Wooyoung was exactly that — untouchable and building a house inside of San's head and he hated how casual he was about this whole thing from the start.

“Why did you even start coming out here, Wooyoung? Don’t you have a friend who you could hang out with?”

“Don’t you?” 

And that quiets San, catches him in a sticky web of embarrassment for a moment because he couldn’t come up with anything else to say in rebuttal. Yes, he had friends he could hang out with, but one of them went to bed early for their classes tomorrow and the other two were out with their soulmates (but San tries not to think too much about it).

San was able to snag classes that were later in the day, so he had time to do anything he wanted while the world wasn’t awake, sleeping into the early mornings being at the top of his list.

More often than not, he also spent it on the roof with Wooyoung at night.

“Hey, let’s go somewhere. Other than this roof.” Wooyoung ignored the thick sheen of mortification over San’s face as the idea comes to mind, the wind blowing through his striped shirt as he looks at San’s back and his dark hair and how serene he looked sitting on the ledge and thinking, even with his eyebrows knitted together in irritation because of him.

San shakes his head before his heart could change his mind, the thought of leaving the roof sounding more strenuous than it should have. 

_Especially_ if it meant hanging out with Jung Wooyoung.

“No.” 

However, a no wouldn't work for Wooyoung, particularly not now. He needed this thing to get started as quickly as possible. He has less than two months, yet already used up close to two and a half weeks. He knows how these things work; if he was going to make it believable, he needed to push things to move quickly under the facade of actually liking San for it to work.

And to be honest, he wanted to hang out with San regardless. There was something about pushing his buttons that made Wooyoung want to be around him all the time, to see how far he could go by the end of their time together for the night.

That was all there was to it, anyway.

“Come on, please?” Wooyoung’s voice is different now, still untouchable, but there was a hint of rebellion in it that made it seem like he wanted to go steal the moon with him rather than somewhere that was still open this late at night. San can't see him from where he was sitting on the ledge, but he smells the remnants of his cologne and faint green apples this time, as Wooyoung rests his hands on the ledge and leans forward a bit, poking his nose into San’s space.

San begins to wonder if this is what Yeosang felt like.

“Look, I’m sorry for being a dick to you all the time. Sorry for being loud the other day and not giving a shit about you or your roommate. Not gonna say it won’t ever happen again, but…” San could almost _see_ him smirk as he lightly tsks, and it makes him grimace, “I’m sorry. For now.”

“Wow, I’m so moved.” San voice is flat and reminds Wooyoung of desert dunes, and this makes him laugh at the layer of humor underneath his stodgy skin. San shakes his head again and regards the empty sidewalk below his feet instead, feeling nuisance in his blood again as he realizes Wooyoung had a special talent for being an asshole. “Fuck _off_.”

“San, please?” Wooyoung ignores that last bit. “I’m bored. Maybe we could catch another gig at the venue! It’s only, like...nine.”

San sighs and swings his legs over the side of the ledge where Wooyoung wasn’t, but he moves over before he could leave and stands right in front of him, a steel prison in Wooyoung’s striped shirt and the lollipop stick jutting from his mouth. San looks up at him, feels his heart jumpstart as he really sees Wooyoung for the first time tonight, and he opts for looking at his black shoes instead of his starry eyes, his hand in his pocket while doubtful fingertips graze over the security of his apartment key.

“Will you stop asking? I don’t wanna run all over the place with you tonight.”

“Just come _on_. Live a little.” Wooyoung takes the lollipop out of his mouth and it glistens in the ivory of the moon as he shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re gonna be a virgin forever with that attitude, Sannie.” 

San nearly has a heart attack at that, his chest feeling almost too full as if his embarrassment would trickle out of his nose and pour from his ears. “What the _fuck—_ ”

“Come _on_. We’ll take the luxurious public transit, go to the venue, maybe hit the beach and go skinny dipping, buy tacos from a random food truck we pass by and risk food poisoning, get on the metro and see if it takes us all the way to Canada—”

“Whoa, whoa. I thought we were just gonna go on a date to the venue?”

“Oh, so you’re agreeing to go out with me and that it’s a date?” Wooyoung tilts his head, and San is becoming frantic, coloring laceleaf in front of him and Wooyoung can’t help but break into a smile at how easy it was to mess with him.

“Wait, that’s not—”

“I knew you were in love with me, baby.”

San’s right ear gives out once the sirens become too much, _way_ too much, and he could swear his head was pounding from the noise as he tries to hide his face from Wooyoung behind his hands. “Good god, _please—_ ”

“So easy. Come on, Sannie. I’ll buy you a latte or something to make you feel better.”

Wooyoung takes San’s hand away from his face and nearly pulls him off of the ledge with him, but he can’t find it in him to pull away or to say something. He looks at their hands as Wooyoung leads him to the door, talking to him about something, but his voice was completely silent against his ears as he follows him out to the stairwell, their fingers laced together as if this was a normal thing, as if they were truly a couple who just _held hands_ like this.

As if they did this a lot.

San really didn’t know if he could keep up.


	9. the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains mentions of smoking please beware

The moon.

One cool thing about it is that there are many stories circulating around it. There are many theories that question it, many words that define it, and many beliefs that encompass it. Some people think that full moons drive you insane if you were to look at them for too long. Some people think that Neil Armstrong was abducted by aliens when he went up there. Some people think that it’s a giant spacecraft used for studying humans.

The moon was a basis for many things, many myths that we could press our beliefs into, we could write our scripts and ink our futures into.

San had always really loved the moon. It reminded him of a lot of things, like hope and adventures and the inexplicable love he had for his friends. 

And, to both his surprise and discontent, Wooyoung was inching his way to the top of the list very quickly.

He was someone with many narratives surrounding him, telling that he was troubled, he was a dropout, he was too smart for his last university, or maybe that he was a criminal. People had guessed many things about him and why he was here, written themselves into the silvery surface of Wooyoung’s skin, and scattered stars from who they wanted him to be without really knowing. 

San doesn’t really think that’s fair.

And with the way he was talking to him, pulling him into a whirlpool of ease and curtaining his own confidence over San’s shoulders at his favorite live music venue that made him feel on top of the world tonight, San would have believed Wooyoung was just a normal college student, someone who wanted to make friends and tried his very best to be nice to everyone, rather than the novels he’s heard about him.

He made it seem as if he had put the world on pause just for San to listen to him, to take him in and really study him for what he was worth. And he would have believed it, would have preferred it even, so that he could spend more time hearing him and building up his own ideas and speculations about him that nobody else bothered to pay attention to.

Jung Wooyoung was very much worth paying attention to.

Even now, when he was resting his chin on his hands and listening to San talk this time, watching him like he was made of emeralds, smiling at him like he was his favorite thing in the universe through his words, San couldn’t help but pay attention to him.

As San brings up Yeosang, Wooyoung goes off of the tail end of their conversation, something about skateboards and hating hospitals, and the more San noticed him — how his eyebrows danced when he spoke, how his lips twitched in a smile at the memories, how his eyes found his thoughts in the table in front of them — the weirder he felt.

It felt weird being in his company, when Wooyoung felt like the world and his head felt like space, and the way he spoke felt like home.

San doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been this interested in someone before and he was thinking more about it than he knew he should.

“—paying attention to me?”

“What?” He gets embarrassed, black hair falling into his eyes as he snaps his head up to meet Wooyoung’s, flickering with curiosity and the prettiest shade of brown San has ever seen.

San always hated brown. But Wooyoung made it work somehow.

“Jeez, you’re more of an airhead than I thought, Dimples.” Wooyoung leans back in his wooden chair, creaking slightly from its age, and San feels his black shoes on the outside of his own, trapping him again, but this time, in a music venue where there were four exits and San felt like there were exactly none.

“Sh-shut up. It was probably boring and stupid anyway, whatever you were talking about.” San’s eyebrows knit together, and he could tell his face had a blush dusted over his cheeks by the way Wooyoung was half smiling at him, and he pushed his specs up the bridge of his nose while looking over San’s face.

It was a habit of his, San has noticed. Or maybe it wasn’t, and San just had enough bad luck to where Wooyoung took every opportunity to study his face. 

He hated being so open like that.

“I was talking about you, actually. So yeah, you’re right. Boring and stupid.” Wooyoung says, and San sighs heavily through his nose.

“You always know what to say, Woo.” He smiles at him, fake and somewhat spiteful and he hopes that he thinks it’s just as awful as those smirks he gives him in return sometimes. “I hate you.”

“You’re literally in love with me. I could tell by the way you blush so easily. Even now, look at you.”

“Will you lay off? I hate you. I’m only out here with you because you asked, and I would feel bad if you came here by yourself and got into a fight or something.” San ducks his head and presses his hands to his cheeks, hoping Wooyoung wouldn’t comment anymore before his face starts a fire in the middle of this place. 

He presses his hands to them and thinks of ice.

“I would believe that, had you not called it a date,” Wooyoung says, and he runs his hand through his black hair and it reminds San of twilight as the stars from the roof fall from his fingers and onto the table.

“Because _you_ did!” San’s voice is shrill, like when you pop a balloon and it bothers you, and he gets even more flustered when Wooyoung smiles at him, probably making fun of him in his head.

“Relax, Dimples. If you want to be my boyfriend so bad, all you gotta do is ask.” 

San suddenly shoots up, the chair beneath him scooting back with a soft screech, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, remembering the key in his pocket as another wave of embarrassment grazes over him. “I’m leaving. I have to go study, anyway.”

Wooyoung grabs his wrist just as he was passing by him, currents like lightning shooting through his skin and pushing his heart to beat harder as he completely halts whatever San had his mind set on. He feels like the rain as he looks down at Wooyoung, slow and falling and drowning in him, but he doesn’t know exactly what he was drowning _in._

It seems like San would never know much of anything with him.

Wooyoung tilts his head, almost putting up a white flag and coaxing San to stay with him as he sighs softly. 

“Come on, San. Don’t be lame. I was asking you something. It’s really important, please?” 

San finds himself sitting in front of Wooyoung again, buzzing like the pink neon open signs that he sees in front of the dive bar near Wellington Boulevard as Wooyoung looks over him again, his arms out on the table as he plays with his thumbs. 

“I’m trying to think of how to word this,” Wooyoung tells him, and San finds that weird, too, considering Wooyoung never really cared for other people’s feelings enough to have trouble _wording_ things.

San peers at him, his skin like warm honey in the amber lights of the venue, and San thinks, while Wooyoung wasn’t wired and actively thinking of how to ruin his life, that he was beautiful. His eyes linger for a moment, on Wooyoung’s pink lips and his pretty shaped eyes and the hoop through his nose, reminding him of a cool day in summer, when the streets were empty and the air was humid with opportunity. 

Tonight, Wooyoung felt just like opportunity. 

“You can’t feel anything, right? You have CIPA?”

San glowers slightly, the question tasting like copper as it leaves Wooyoung's mouth. 

He’s never really been asked that, since it wasn’t something that people noticed and immediately asked about. He hears the sirens in his head again, but they weren’t wailing as loudly this time, and he takes a breath that quickly gets lodged in his throat when it dawns on him that Wooyoung has been asking about him, too. 

Nobody knew about that unless they knew San. 

He doesn’t answer for a moment as static fills his head, wanting to pull the same card on him to see if he gets as flustered as he did on the roof the other day. 

“How do you know about that?”

Wooyoung shrugs, his eyes flicking to his thumb, and he somehow looks unbothered, as if San was nothing compared to him and this was a simple question with an even simpler answer. San wanted so badly to just crack Wooyoung’s confidence, just _once,_ to see him flustered and stressed just as easily as it occurred to him. 

“I asked about you, is all. Heard you can’t feel anything.”

San’s eyebrow skips as he thinks. “Yeah, I could feel things. I just can’t feel pain. Or heat. Or cold stuff. I’m not completely numb.” 

“So, if I were to punch you in the face right now with hot brass knuckles-”

“No, I wouldn't feel it, but _you_ would if I were the one to. Do you wanna test it?” 

Wooyoung chuckles, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, sounding like normalcy, as if they weren’t hating each other an hour ago. “I’m sure you’d love that.”

And San wants to say something in rebuttal, but the lights in the venue suddenly go out, and the room is encased in a gentle shade of violet, with the spotlights from the stage casting pink tones on the ceiling. They change to jade as they billowed across the ceiling, and San watches the stage as the band begins to set up, a tinge of excitement inflating in his chest when he sees people begin to make their way to the front of the stage to watch.

“You like live music?” Wooyoung asks, knowing full well he did with the way his eyes took on the spotlights, gleaming like a child. 

If one venue made him look like _that,_ Wooyoung would take him to every single one in town. 

“Yeah. I haven't been to a venue before.” San blinks, glancing at Wooyoung as he pulls him out of his head, before he gets shy and focuses on his shoes, Wooyoung’s feet right beside them, but a little farther away.

It was good, gave him less commitment.

“Good to know, so I could keep taking you on dates.”

“This is _not_ a date.” 

Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, and my name is San.” 

“ _I’m_ San.” San’s eyebrows come together as he answers on a whim, but as Wooyoung shakes his head with a smile, he knows he fell into another trap that was so obvious and stupid, it made him want to push Wooyoung off of his chair.

“You’re really dumb.” 

San rolls his eyes and huffs, still trying to figure out how he’s not used to all of Wooyoung’s dull setups. “Shut up. The gig’s about to start.”

Wooyoung stands up and causes the chair beneath him to shriek across the floor again, just as loud as the ones in the sub shop. San winces, but the noise doesn’t hurt his ears as he’d expected.

“Let’s go to the front before it fills.”

And with the way San was becoming entranced with the stage, anticipation in his eyes and awe in his lips as they make their way through the dark room, Wooyoung almost wants to say more, wants to add gasoline to the fire under San’s skin, but he bites his tongue. 

“O-okay.”

San and Wooyoung were able to squeeze their way in between a guy with bushy, dark hair, surrounding his round face like a lion’s mane, and a girl with a black mesh shirt, her eyes sharp and a beautiful complement to her pallid cheeks. 

San thought she looked really nice, but he barely was able to smile at her. He’d never talk to another stranger if he didn’t have to, the intimidation of making good impressions never landing with him. 

“Who is playing tonight?” San asks, staying close enough to Wooyoung to where he could smell his cologne and the way the night soaked into his clothes, holding onto his shirt just in case he were to get lost in the pit, really not wanting to lose him. 

He’s heard about being stepped on and he had been deathly afraid of moving to the front because of it.

“Dunno. Might be good, though.” 

Wooyoung really tries to ignore how endearing San truly was, wanting to hold his hand or throw his arm around his shoulders instead, but he saw the invisible boundaries San had spent weeks building up around himself and he didn't want to try and break them down yet.

He would be thinking about this for a while.

San watches as the spotlights slowly creep over Wooyoung’s face for a moment, painting his specs in a thin, scarlet watercolor while his nose ring gleams like asterisms in rubies. San thinks Wooyoung was breathtaking when he was sitting, when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but the stage and leaning against the barrier for the stage in front of him, when he was smiling, and when he was carefully crafting the next sentence that would come out of his mouth and thinking about how to word it. 

San thinks he was especially lovely now, when he was losing a part of himself in the hidden acoustics and glassy harmonics of this song in particular.

When San gets used to the kick drum in his chest and the music filling his head, it smells like smoke, a shadowy and creepy aroma that stings his nose as quickly as it had come, and San really tries not to cough as it prickles his lungs and clouds his head for a moment. Wooyoung smells it, too, and he grimaces as he glances at the people behind San, the cloud of smoke billowing over his head before a spotlight shoots it down in a soft pink hue. He’d forgotten about stuff like this.

San had decided now that he didn’t really like this venue so much.

Wooyoung lowers his head to San’s ear, and it immediately makes San forget about the smoke, makes chills run over his skin as he almost forgets the reason for being here in the first place. “Should have warned you, sorry. People get drunk here, smoke, too. If you want, we could leave, try to find another venue? Are you feeling okay?” 

San nods, something about the bells chiming in Wooyoung’s voice, riddled with concern and very different to how he was a few moments ago, making him want to calm him, even if he didn’t mean it.

“I’m okay.”

He ducks his head a little as Wooyoung lingers, just in case he said something else for him to catch over the music, before he nods and pulls away, leaving him bustling as another blush floods his face. The area in front of the stage started to get packed as the band continued, loud and unpleasant, but nice and the perfect volume for a night like this - blaring and electric, yet it was just a normal night for them. 

And while San tries to figure out exactly what it was about Wooyoung, exactly how he was so effortlessly able to twist his thoughts around his fingers, evade his doubts and settle in his heart, he ends up thinking more about him than really enjoying the rest of this live gig. 

There were exactly three things that didn’t make sense to San. 

Jung Wooyoung made up one and a half of them.


	10. just think about it, okay?

San watched how the stars shook above them as they walked back to their apartments, the moon vibrant and inviting under the black ribbons of the night, coaxing him to stay out with Wooyoung while warning him of the consequences.

Were there really any? 

As they seemed to be the only two people alive tonight, San felt like the sea made up the night again, like glittering seashells hung low in the sky while the moon filtered above them as Wooyoung filled all of his empty spaces with the memories that San found himself interested in. He thinks Wooyoung’s already taken tonight up quite a bit, with his overwhelming smile and his eyes like Orion. 

San wanted to talk about everything and nothing with him, his chest filling with fireflies as he thinks about all he could have said tonight, but had been too afraid of. He wanted to run wild with him in the streets and hide away from him at home, to do the most outrageous thing he could think of with him until there was nothing left to do.

Wooyoung just made him feel _weird_.

“So, when do you start class?”

The silence shatters as soon as he asked, remembering that Wooyoung was a transfer student when he pushed his specs up the bridge of his nose again.

“Next Monday.” Wooyoung brings both of his hands behind his head, leaning his head back a little as they turned the corner towards their apartment complex. “I’m dreading calc. It’s gonna be so hard to catch up.”

San’s heart ignites at that. There was a slight possibility… 

“Calc with Park?” 

Wooyoung scoffs. “Yes. Don’t tell me—”

San quickly stomps his fires out, pours water over them, and smothers them with towels.

“No. Attendance in that class isn’t mandatory. I only show up for tests. So no, we don’t have class together. Not really.”

“Bummer. I was looking forward to seeing your pretty face every day. That’s too bad.”

“Sh-shut up. Stop.” San’s voice comes out like tissue paper, Wooyoung pressing indents and tearing off his corners in just that one sentence he'd said, that was really supposed to mean nothing. 

Wooyoung thinks this bet would be easier than he thought.

“We should hang out again, Sannie. The gig was fun, right?” Wooyoung asks, and it’s when San notices that they were going towards the darker stairwell, that he stops, tugging back on Wooyoung’s shirt again to stop him from walking forward.

They were trapped in a warp, it seems like, where Wooyoung was time itself and San was brave enough to interrupt it.

“Can we...sorry, but...can we take the other stairwell?” San falls sheepish as Wooyoung looks over him, the tips of his ears hot with humiliation as Wooyoung smiles, but he can’t tell if it was one to mock him or one to reassure him.

He was looking over him like he was made of glass, like if he blinked, he would shatter, and San can’t look at him anymore because he just _can’t_ figure out what he was thinking. His eyes run over his face, skipping back and forth between his own, until he nods and makes his way towards the other stairwell.

“You afraid of the dark?” Wooyoung asks him, and San follows him up the other stairwell, forgetting to count the steps this time as he focused instead on how lame that sounded when it came out of someone else’s mouth.

“Something like that.” 

“You big baby.” Wooyoung teases him, and San watches as he smiles again, small and genuine and San even thinks it was coy (but only if he squinted).

“Shut up. This is never happening again.” San tells him, trying to take them in from a fish eye point of view and thinking that this whole situation was so strange, straight out of a fairytale or something else dumb and completely unrealistic. 

He just went on a date with the same guy that he wanted to punch in the jaw last week. 

Again, Jung Wooyoung just did _not_ make sense.

They stop in front of their apartment doors, and Wooyoung makes a face and tilts his head, just to be annoying. “Come on, Dimples. Don’t be like that.”

San shakes his head once, looking at the floor. He quickly takes the key out of his front pocket, slightly in fear of the fact that he would drop it in front of Wooyoung and look like even more of a mess than he already did, his fingertips clammy and his legs like toothpicks as he pushes it into the first lock.

“Fine." Wooyoung watches San open his door, feeling partly torn in between trying to hold him out here for longer or letting him leave, not wanting to think about what he would do once San was in his apartment. "This was fun, we should do it again sometime. If you need me, I’ll be on the roof.”

“Trust me, I won’t need you.” San tells him, successfully unlocking the second lock, but he had the extensive, daunting task of trying to push the door open with his entire body ahead of him. 

He tries once, then twice, beginning to get stressed out when it wouldn’t open again, Wooyoung standing back and watching him with as much amusement as watching a failing circus act, and San nearly wants to cry. Of course, when he needed it to open _now,_ it wouldn’t budge.

He made a mental note to look up a different apartment in the area once he got to his computer.

“Wait, San.”

It dawns on Wooyoung that he would be alone again, that he would be waiting until the next time he could see San and the next time he could hang out with him. He took up the option of trying to hold him out here for longer.

“What?” San asks softly, because he really didn’t know if his roommates were home or not and he didn’t want them to make a big deal out of it if they heard him.

He didn’t even know the time anymore.

He shuts the door without closing it, his hand on the knob in case he needed to make a quick getaway from Wooyoung’s police lights, from the handcuffs in his mouth and the prison cells in his eyes.

“I was serious. We should do this again sometime.” 

San’s heart plummets, beginning to feel sick because he really did want to do this again, but there was the uncertainty of Wooyoung as a whole and he didn’t know what he wanted to do, not _really._ Wooyoung was every shade of grey he could think of, every mystery and enigma he could imagine. There was something about the unknown that took to him that made San want to spend time with him to crack his codes, see how much of Wooyoung he could solve, but at the same time, he was scared of him.

He doesn’t know why. His heart is telling him not to, to make up an excuse to never see Wooyoung again.

Wooyoung sees this across his face as San thinks into the pavement beneath their feet. He gets tired of waiting, the end date of the bet in the back of his head, and he decided that he needed to think of another plan to get him out on another date with him. He reaches out to San and gently lifts his chin with two fingers, not giving him another option but to look at him. San looks at him, his eyes inviting and comforting and cold, gleaming like fires and dark with penumbra. His heart flips as he feels stuck again.

San didn’t get away quick enough this time. He was in shackles already, lost and trapped in Wooyoung and everything that he was trying to get away from now.

“Just think about it, okay?”

And as if Wooyoung could see how much he affects San, his lips curl into a half-grin again, just how San imagined it to look, and he steps back from him, holding San’s eyes and his conscience in his hands as he turns over his shoulder and makes his way to the door to the roof. San blinks, and he has to blink again before he collects himself and pries his feet off of the flypaper on the floor, nearly falling into his apartment and almost knocking over all three of his roommates. 

“We were watching you through the peephole. That guy’s totally in love with you, you’re so fucked.” Yeosang breaks the news to him first, before San ducks his head and hides his face in his hands, feeling his blood boil as another blush surges over his face. 

He groans and slides down the door, the world suffocating around him like a vacuum seal and his skin felt just as tight, too.

“What the _hell_ , you guys? When did you get home? Jongho, you're supposed to be sleeping!” San’s voice is drenched in humiliation because not only did Wooyoung cause it, but all three of his roommates saw them, and he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it later.

Or, ever.

“We wanted to make sure he wasn’t, uh...bullying? You?” Jongho tries, and San shakes his head, looking up at him in disbelief with his hands stamped over his cheeks. 

His hair was messy and his cheeks were puffy, telling San that Yeosang and Yunho probably woke up for this. He couldn't wait to go hide away in his room again.

“Lies! You’re all just nosey!” 

Yunho shakes his head with a shrug. “You kind of set yourself up. Right in front of our door? Come on, Sannie.” 

“Well, are you thinking about it? What he told you?” Yeosang asks, his head tilted as Jongho and Yunho look at him in slight anticipation, with their eyebrows and noses and lips raised and waiting to hear an answer. San sighs shakily, feeling like a ghost in front of his friends, like he was put on blast for them to question.

He was thinking about it, alright. 

A lot more than he should have.


	11. blanket forts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!
> 
> recently ive felt kinda weird about my writing?? i went back and edited a ton so like some things might be differently written or taken out, etc. but the plot is still the same! i've just been feeling very weird about it but i think i've figured out whats been bothering me so im trying to fix it!! my apologies if anything from this chapter on has changed too drastically in terms of writing style (which it shouldnt but u know i probably would never catch it if anything)
> 
> i also dont know why i made hoseok wooyoung's brother????? i was thinking about this morning like what,,, why,,, 
> 
> this au is so weird im SORRY
> 
> pls enjoy

It’s been a week. 

Wooyoung now had San’s number and the power to take him on _scheduled_ dates this time, a very timely and sophisticated take on what they usually did with each other.

And it wasn’t really a date, more of Wooyoung pestering him until he agreed to hang out with him if he’d shut up (through the walls this time, San would try to avoid the rooftop whenever Wooyoung’s apartment was quiet), and then walking him back to their apartment and making him blush like an idiot for the millionth time in the span of their four weeks of knowing each other.

San was nervous tonight as he got ready for their third, a guise of nerves on his shoulders as he looked at himself in the mirror and tried to convince his reflection that he looked decent enough to just go on the date, and to _not_ pull Yunho’s flat iron out of the cabinet and fix his hair.

Don’t. _Don’t._

He feels so annoyed. 

In the last twenty minutes of him trying to piece together his fragmented confidence in Wooyoung’s imaginary impressions, he gets annoyed because he knew he looked okay, and that Wooyoung wouldn’t judge him for anything, really. He’d probably just call him pretty or something dumb that made his chest fill with bubbles, so there was no need to worry and he _knew_ it.

And that annoys him even more.

San runs a hand through his dark hair, making a face in the mirror as he could just not seem to just look _right._ His eyes ski down the slope of his nose, landing at the mark on his chin and arcing back up to the way his hair lightly brushed over his forehead. Something felt off about it.

It was frizzy.

No, it was fine. Was it frizzy?

He quickly pulls out Yunho’s flat iron from the cabinet beneath the sink and mentally prepares himself for another few minutes to waste before he has time to think of an argument.

_“Hi, lovely. Do you like pillow forts?”_

Wooyoung asks this through the wall, a form of communication that San preferred more often than not because he didn’t have to look at Wooyoung and worry about losing his way so much.

“Yes.”

_“Are you hungry?“_

“Do you want me to cook something?” 

_“You cook?“_

“Sometimes.”

_“That’s okay. I ordered pizza. It just fits the theme of our date, you know? We could make cookies after and be like those couples in the movies.”_

“We’re not a couple.”

_“Yet.”_

San tries, really tries to fight the urge to smile at that last bit, a blush of flamingo feathers sifted over his cheeks as he looks away from himself in the mirror. He couldn’t stand getting this shy so easily, especially over what Wooyoung says to him behind a _wall_. And he's got his head ducked over the sink and his hands pressed to his face when he imagines him saying things like that to him in person, trying to think of ice again.

This is embarrassing.

“...I’m staying home.” He tells him.

_“These walls are thin. I’ll break them down and steal you.”_

San shakes his head at how crazy that was, imagining Wooyoung barreling through their wall like a big giant, yet, he wouldn't be surprised. Jung Wooyoung was capable of splitting seas and creating universes, what’s breaking down a wall? 

“ _Jeez_ , Woo.”

_“Hurry and come over! I wanna see you.“_

“St-stop that.”

_“It’s true. Don’t you wanna see me, too?”_

And Wooyoung knows he’s being annoying, in more of a test that twisted the strands of San’s mind around his finger, rather than a genuine question (though he kind of _did_ want to know for his own sake, but he’d never tell San).

Wooyoung's been testing San a lot lately.

“No.”

_“Then why did you agree on this date, huh?”_

By now, their banter was flirting with flattery and it was getting to San’s head more than it was intended to. He was nervous, yet, there was an urge in his heart that excited him, made him speed up straightening his hair so he could go see Wooyoung, like the interruption would make him feel better.

But there was nothing to feel better about.

“Because…” San tries to find an answer in rebuttal, to put up another brick wall to Wooyoung's remarks with a snide one of his own, but he can't. 

He didn't know much about why he agreed to this himself. Or, it was more like he did, but just didn't want to admit it.

_“Because...you are in love with me.”_

He could almost see Wooyoung raise his eyebrows and grin and look at him like he was two feet tall again if San had been right in front of him.

San gets annoyed again, but it was short-lived when he thinks about him, what spontaneous thing Wooyoung had planned for this stupid date.

“Shush. I’ll see you in like five minutes.”

_“What, are you putting on makeup or something?”_

San reddens again, feels like he was doing something illegal. It takes him almost too long to try and come up with something to say to deflect. It kind of felt like he was, all for nothing. And he comes up short when Wooyoung’s got him at a loss for words and in steel shackles again.

_“I’ll take that as a yes.”_

“It’s a no!” 

_“Then come **on!** I wanna see you.”_

San sighs through his nose, straightening the top of his hair and finding their conversations becoming exceedingly ridiculous as time passed. It was nice, comforting even, to know that there was someone who was waiting on him, who looked forward to spending time with him just as much as he did.

Or, at least, he hoped he did.

Wooyoung was starting to feel more like a friend, like someone he could imagine spilling secrets to under bedsheets until dusk peeked past the window at them.

San just didn’t know if he was willing to acknowledge it.

“You’re making it seem like you’re the one in love with me.” He says, and he could almost see Wooyoung smile from where he was behind the wall, the one that reminded him of the sway of palm trees that bordered the beach downtown.

_“I am. I have no problem admitting it, unlike you. I am smitten with you, Sannie.”_

“God, shut _up.”_ And San only tells him this because his head was slipping into very creative and imaginative scenarios based off of that one sentence, while his heart was screaming at Wooyoung to just _stop talking like that._

It was beginning to not be funny anymore.

_“My door’s open for you.”_

Wooyoung calls, and an affirmation sits in his mouth as he stares at his left hand, his thoughts draining out of him as he sees it, bringing his hand up to his face.

The tips of his forefinger and thumb burn a light shade of pink petals as he unplugs the hot iron from the outlet, but it was in his right hand and he thought he was being more careful than he usually was. He doesn’t remember feeling the pressure of the hot iron on his other hand at all.

His eyebrows come together as the shade of pink turns to a watered-down scarlet, curtaining down to the middle of his fingers like spilled acrylic. As San watches it color down his skin, forgets about his hair and his Wooyoung for a moment, he hears his phone go off back in his bedroom that shoots him back into his environment, a second ping, and then a third.

He huffs, putting the hot iron back in the cabinet and checking over himself one more time, his eyes scanning judgmentally over his cheeks and his lips, the beauty mark by his chin, then to his hair and that one strand that just would _not go down._

San decides to leave before he thought of any more insecurities to add to his list, checking his phone thrown haphazardly on his bed as his heart drops at the thought of the next thing he needs to do after this.

Wooyoung, Wooyoung, Wooyoung.

 **yu:** _hello soulmate san_

 **yu:** _burned myself at work with the new coffee machine but i am okay do not be alarmed i put ointment on it so u should be good (^-^)_

 **yu:** _i love u! <333 and make safe decisions with wooyoung in his apartment!! _

San almost wishes Yunho was in front of him so that he could push him and tell him to stop putting more humiliation in his head that he didn't even _need_ to be embarrassed about. He locks his phone and his skin suddenly feels stiff as he leaves the apartment, walking the short twenty seconds to Wooyoung’s door and lightly rubbing his fingers together, the skin raw and smooth from the burn.

The night was going slow today, the wind blowing almost timidly through his hair and into his shirt. The sky seemed infinite as stars filled it to the top and spilled over, warming the world in its photosphere and encouraging him to walk a little faster. San always loved the nighttime, how quiet yet bustling it was, how liberated and confined he felt under the pale radiance of the moon. It was made up of contrasts that he didn't mind so much, reminded him of perfect imbalances that always fit.

He gets to Wooyoung’s, and presses his shoulder against the door as he braces to push all of his weight on it to nearly break it open, but it’s when he feels a slight draft on his nose that he stops. 

His heart picks up when he realizes Wooyoung had left it open for him, so that he didn’t have to go through the trouble. He hears Wooyoung’s voice, muffled and probably talking on the phone or something, and part of him wanted to hear but he knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop.

He opens the door quickly to let him know he was here instead.

“—pain. Yeah, I know. I’m getting my fifty bucks, dude.”

He sighs out a smile as he sees Wooyoung draping another white sheet over his couch, what San assumed were high chairs from the kitchen allowing for more room underneath it, his phone pressed against his ear. Wooyoung notices him, looking as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, the television in the middle of his living room covered with white sheets as the trailer for a movie flashes muffled colors underneath them. 

Wooyoung looks back at the sheets, while San shuts the door behind him.

“I have to go, goodbye.” He's quick to hang up, sliding his phone in his back pocket and fixing the sheet he’d just laid down.

“A blanket fort?” San asks, and Wooyoung’s eyes suddenly gleam, as if it was his master plan and he would take over the world with it alone.

“Pretty good, huh?”

San rolls his own as he takes off his shoes by the door, Wooyoung adjusting the other white sheets over the chairs to make it look nicer, a pretty fortress that looked like a comfy throne, if San spun it that way.

“The pizza’s gonna be here, soon. You wanna pick a movie?” Wooyoung asks, and San nods, slightly confused with himself, of wanting to come here just to get the date over with, yet not wanting to leave when it's over.

He watches Wooyoung disappear underneath the sheets through one of the many openings within the chairs, taking it as an invitation. He follows suit, feeling like white noise and antimatter made up his bones when he sees him sitting on the couch, taking in the heavy domesticity of a date like this with the television running trailers behind him. He smiles at San, sweetly and inviting, and San feels his stomach flip as butterflies dance in his chest, a moment of unrest before they settle and wait to be disturbed again, and he meets Wooyoung in the middle of the fort, his legs moving faster than he wanted them to.

Wooyoung suddenly feels the first blushes of nerves sweep over him like dusk, and San could almost tell, because he didn’t have anything to say for a moment as they looked at each other. The sheets ornament them in a dimmed halo, showing off their favorite things about each other — Wooyoung’s pretty eyes that held everything and nothing at once, and San’s dimples that rush waves when he hides his hand behind a smile. 

Wooyoung is at a loss for the first time tonight.

“You’re looking at me weird.” San’s voice is like chalk as Wooyoung blinks and snaps his head to the television, trying to focus on finding the remote for it while he hopes San doesn’t notice his face.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it, you look very cute.” He says. “You remind me of marigolds.”

“Really?”

Wooyoung feels like he's getting too flustered, like flowers are blossoming in his chest at too quick of a pace, and he needs to break it somehow.

“Yeah, like the really ugly ones infested with bugs.” 

San sighs and rolls his eyes, takes it as their usual stabs at each other rather than Wooyoung's paper mache defense towards him. “You really know what to say, Woo.”

"I'm kidding. You do look really nice tonight. You should smile more." Wooyoung was good at diffusing things, himself especially, and when the attention is shifted back onto San, he takes the moment to pull himself together.

And despite them getting used to each other for the past few weeks, warming up to each other and getting familiar with their mannerisms and what makes each other tick, Wooyoung still felt so far away to San. He was always here, always so easy to read back when they were strangers. San could tell what Wooyoung was going to do next, could finish his sentences if he wanted to, because he was just _so predictable._

Now, he felt like he was shrouded in every dark color San could think of. He was right beside him, but San couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he was going to do next, even when he was familiar.

And he can’t tell if it’s because of Wooyoung, or because he was too scared to imagine. Things were going very fast for both of them, and they knew it. 

San got nervous thinking about it, while Wooyoung felt guilty.

“No.” San tells him, shaking his head. He looks at the television. “I hate my smile.”

Wooyoung leans back onto the couch, stretching his legs out while his feet rest on the table, trying to latch onto the feigned assurance that this was just for a bet. He didn’t need to feel nervous.

He didn’t need to feel.

“Nice fuzzy socks,” San says, and it was supposed to be a jab at him, but Wooyoung quickly deflects it as quickly as it had come out of San’s mouth.

“Thanks. I made them myself.”

“No way.” San says, and Wooyoung smiles and looks up toward the ceiling, his specs falling back on his nose as his sweater pools over the material of the couch, like black curtains.

“Yeah. I knit sometimes. Found a cool yarn once and made them. I’m waiting for the day they get destroyed in the washing machine.” Wooyoung tells him, and there was something about the way it came out of his mouth that made him laugh behind his hand again, dimples indenting his cheeks and Wooyoung just knew that there were waves crashing harder onto shore somewhere.

He looks away from him.

“You knit?”

“Yeah.” Wooyoung says, and could tell San was making fun of him for it, but he couldn’t get offended when he was laughing. He smiles. “Sorry that you have no talent, San. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t understand. I’m not a fucking grandma.” 

Wooyoung lightly pushes his shoulder, and he’s reminded of his childhood, when he could do anything with his best friend and nobody could stop them when they were together. They would push each other's shoulders like that, whenever things got silly enough, and he would dream of saving the world with him, dream of pulling off heists and living forever with him. 

Wooyoung was starting to dream a bit more like that recently.

“You know, I was gonna make you some as a gift someday. But now you get _nothing.”_

San feels more giggles chugging up his throat at the thinks. It wasn’t even that funny. But San got Wooyoung laughing and it seems like no other thing can compare to what they were talking about tonight, underneath Wooyoung’s blanket fort in the middle of his apartment. Wooyoung looks at him, about to say something in return, but the thought falls off at the tip of his tongue and dissolves into the floor as he meets San’s eyes.

Wooyoung glances at his mouth, very noticeably, yet San decides not to say something or think about it, too afraid to put anything into light. 

He decided that he imagined it after pushing it to the back of his head.

“Pick a movie, loser.” Wooyoung gives San the remote from the coffee table and leans back against the couch again, letting his arm rest against the back of the cushions again while San tries to think of a movie he was interested in.

“What genre are you into?” San asks.

Wooyoung shrugs. “ _Not_ comedy.”

“Okay, we’ll watch a comedy.”

Wooyoung laughs, and San feels like gold.

It’s only when the trailer for a scary one begins that Wooyoung coughs, loudly enough to pull San out of his decision making. He understood that it wasn’t a normal cough and was, in fact, a signal for something. He looks at him, Wooyoung's eyes glimmering with obvious insinuation, and he notices that his arm was dangerously close to him behind his shoulders, his curtain sweater nearly draped over his shoulders.

The sirens went off in San as he shook his head quickly. "Nu-uh.” 

Wooyoung sighs in defeat and shakes his head. “You’re killing me, Dimples.”

San rolls his eyes for the nth time since interacting with Wooyoung, going back to the movie and trying to decide on what he wanted to see, the many titles taking up his headspace and smothering his worries for a moment.

Both Wooyoung and San found out tonight that San was very indecisive when it came to movies (or anything, really).

“You’re very bad at picking movies,” Wooyoung finally points out, just to be annoying, once he’d gone through the entire selection of comedies and decided on three, his mind going back and forth between elsewhere and Wooyoung’s living room like tides.

Wooyoung could tell, too. He just could, when San was thinking about things that stressed him out. He could never tell about what, though.

“Then you pick.” San says, handing Wooyoung the remote.

“What are you in the mood for?”

San shrugs, shaking his head against the back of Wooyoung’s couch and it makes a sound like rain sprinkling against the roof. 

“Whatever you want. I’m not picky.”

“Not picky? That’s hot.” 

San groans and brings his hands up to his face, knowing how warm it probably felt as Wooyoung laughs, his chest rattling San’s ears and disrupting the jitters in his head.

“You’re so annoying.”

Between picking a movie and thinking about the silent earthquakes happening in his stomach as they waited for the pizza to come, Wooyoung was restless. As the night waned, he somehow convinced San to make cookies with him halfway through the movie, the argument of _it’s for a good cause_ and _sugar in the brain helps to enjoy dates more, don’t you know about galactose?_ proving decent enough for him. 

While Wooyoung talks to the pizza girl when she comes, watching the cookies in the dimmed oven light as they bake, San eats the leftover cookie dough from the bowl and lets his thoughts take him over. He thinks about tonight and tomorrow and if Wooyoung would make him feel as nervous in a month like how he does now. 

Wooyoung made him so uneasy. 

He made him so brave and uncertain and sure of himself and undefined. He didn’t feel small anymore with him recently. He could tell, with the way Wooyoung looks at him, smiles at him when he’s talking, that they weren’t just shitty neighbors to each other anymore. It was strange, to think that he hated Wooyoung almost a month ago, wanted him gone and to never think of him again, yet, he was falling in love with the way he was, with the way he laughed like glass bells and reminded him of highways that led to his favorite places. 

San thinks that, if he did, he’d end up on Wooyoung’s couch again, maybe taking an exit and winding up on the roof or the music venue they went to often. 

Wooyoung was becoming San’s most favorite place to be as of late. And for Woo, it was becoming harder to keep San out.

“What did...what did you have to pay her?” San asks, with the intent to pay him back, his heart skipping when Wooyoung takes it upon himself to walk him to his apartment once 1am rolled past, the sky black and desperate and empty. 

And he wasn't tired - in fact, was in the middle of laughing with Wooyoung over some stupid joke he made up - but he noticed the time and needed to have control over _something_ he did. Time was something that was next to meaningless when it came to the two of them. 

“Cash. A few cents.” He smiles when he sees San’s face, watching him plug his key into the lock and thinking of asking him if he wanted help.

But he knew San would say no, so he doesn’t.

“How much?”

“I’m not letting you pay me back.” 

He watches San push against the door, a faint rouge on his cheeks that makes Wooyoung feel almost fearless again, and as a question comes to his head, after the idea had been circulating around him for weeks, his heart plummets, and for the first time, Wooyoung is genuinely unsettled because of San, frightened that things wouldn’t go as planned, and hopeful that they do.

He was also hopeful that they didn’t.

“San?” Wooyoung’s voice is nearly a whisper as San finally gets the door open, and it’s only when he looks at him with innocence and naivety and oblivion as to why Wooyoung even wanted another date in the first place tonight, that he feels guilty again.

“Yeah? You okay?” He asks, seeing Wooyoung swallow as nerves twisted into his bones and disquiet glimmered on his skin in the sheen of the moon.

He was so easy to translate. San couldn’t believe it.

Wooyoung blinks at him, his eyes studying over his face, and San feels the uneasiness flood into his like water, and by the time Wooyoung speaks again, his heart is trying to float as it beats hard and slow in his chest.

“Can I kiss you?”

San hears it, has to have it relay around his head a couple of times for him to understand it. And when he does, he feels polar winds crystallize his bones and freeze his blood, and for a moment, he can’t move. There was something about the potency in the question, how he was really _asking_ rather than just saying things to make San nervous, like he usually did. 

There was something about how he was looking at him as if he would fall off the face of the planet had he told him no.

He didn’t know what to do. He _knew_ he had to, and he’s done it before, he’s thought of it and expected it.

He _knew_ this was coming. He just didn't know he could feel this unsure about something so anticipated.

San looks at him, hoping, just this once, to find any spark of a joke or thinly veiled humor behind his eyes, but he doesn’t, and his head clears completely, a tumbleweed of stray thought or two passing by before he looks at the floor.

“I...I don’t know.”

But he did know, and he did want to, but he was afraid of him. He was afraid of the risks circling around his head, having to do particularly with his conversation with Yeosang a couple of weeks ago. He was scared that, if he did do something outside of his comfort zone, that allowed for things like _this_ , he would make it true.

He didn’t want it to be true.

He was probably terrified for no reason, but the truth behind everything Wooyoung’s been doing recently, the truth behind wanting to see him and spend time with him and just _be_ with him, somehow scared him even more.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Wooyoung asks, and San nods, but he still tells him he didn’t know again, their eyes never meeting.

Wooyoung decided to just test him, gaging how slow or how fast this whole thing would take him. In a normal situation, he would wait for San, maybe take him out on more romantic dates and take things slow, let him make more of the first moves because he knew how shy he gets. In a normal situation, Wooyoung would spend as much time building up makeshift paradises with him, and would take all the time in the world to give him the sun and the moon in gift boxes and everything in between, just to see a smile that he was the cause of. 

In a normal situation, Wooyoung would be falling in love with him right about now, as he painted the world in his violets and greens and left pieces of himself within his soul.

But this was a weird situation, and Wooyoung needed this to go a bit faster.

By the time he gets rid of his heavy, yet weightless doubts, and builds up enough courage to lean into San, he feels his chest cave as San takes the smallest step backwards, showcasing his dissonance to Wooyoung and the rest of the world, focusing into his open apartment door, shy and embarrassed and stressed out. 

San knew that, starting tonight, he’d be mad at himself forever because of this.

“I’m...I have to go, Woo. Text me, okay? Just...text me. Or call me.” San tells him, and he looks like he wants to say more things on top of that, wants to topple his conscience with _many_ more things on top of telling him to just text him, and he nods, feeling more upset by getting rejected by San than he should have.

He expected it, but he didn’t expect to feel this bad. 

“...Okay. I’ll text you.” Wooyoung has his bottom lip slightly in between his teeth, gnawing his insecurities that have only risen just recently into it, thinking into San’s eyes for a moment, before nodding in finality and looking at the ground.

He has to figure out what he’s going to do about this, about himself.

“Sorry.” San tells him, and he’s hesitant and Wooyoung knows that there was nothing to apologize for, but he takes it anyway, silently forgives him, even though he shouldn’t.

“Ah.” Wooyoung smiles, and it makes San feel like kindled embers after being doused. “No worries, San. I’ll see you later.”

Wooyoung was screwed.

And San completely ignores Yeosang and Yunho eating at the table once he shuts the door into his apartment, and goes into his room to think, to steet his rocketship back into his isolated orbit and repair the holes in his half painted walls that Wooyoung had been knocking down so easily.

San was running out of glue and his wood kept breaking the more he tried to fix it.

He doesn’t know if he could keep up with him.


	12. the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains the slightestttttt nsfw content THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING EXPLICIT but i guess it can be considered nsfw?? i could literally never write anything explicit ever but idk its just more than what im used to shdsjsd
> 
> beware and stay safe! if u need me to put an exclamation in front of it pls tell me and i can!

San wanted to try drinking more than a beer tonight, like he usually did, but he knew that aspiration was out the door when he volunteered to drive his friends to and from the party.

He came here with the mindset of staying with his friends and keeping out of trouble, and once he set foot in Jackson’s overly huge house, the music flooding over drunken bodies and bouncing off of the walls, he understood the reasons why he never came to parties in the first place.

Meeting Jung Wooyoung here was also one of them.

Yeosang pointed him out first, then Yunho and Hongjoong pushed him to go say hi before finding the rest of their group, and by the time San looked back to where he last saw his friends, they were gone.

They were sat in the living room, surrounded by people with too many things on their minds, voices bleeding together like a 6am commune. San felt a little overwhelmed, so when Wooyoung coaxed him to stay with him and talk, with his watery smile and starry eyes, San didn’t put up a fight.

Needless to say, he didn’t really need that much convincing anyway.

He couldn’t stop staring at the black eyeliner smoked out around his eyes, at the golden body chains that glinted red underneath his satin button-down, or his gold necklaces overlapping around his throat as he sat in front of San with his legs set wide over the white leather chair, taking up more space and the rest of the room and all of San’s head and soul. 

San thinks that Wooyoung was more dangerous when he wasn’t trying.

And even in the darkness, under red lights with his voice muffled by the stereo in the next room over as he talks, San couldn’t help but stare at him, couldn’t help but pick out stars and create constellations from the words he spoke, like they were the only two people on earth. San had noticed, to his unrest, that there was tension between them as soon as he set foot into the house, but he doesn’t know if it’s because of their many “dates” that had no unspoken end goal, or the fact that they didn’t really know what they were doing with each other in the first place, or _what_.

Who was Wooyoung to him? A friend? Just a guy he goes on dates with when they’re bored? His enemy? His annoying neighbor still? 

San thinks this is a very strange situation and he shouldn’t have found himself in it to begin with.

And he also thinks Wooyoung was doing it on purpose. He had to be. 

“You’re thinking.”

A break in his memoir, Wooyoung’s voice comes out like ripples in rain puddles and it disturbs him, soft against the music, but San was able to hear him fine.

“Yeah.” San nods, his gaze traveling down to the holes in Wooyoung’s jeans rather than his eyes, noticing the little bruises and scrapes that littered his knees. He remembered Wooyoung skated sometimes, and that his own probably looked similar in the fact that Yeosang fell off of his skateboard a lot more than he wanted to. “Just about us.”

Wooyoung doesn’t stop looking at him, tilting his head in silent inquiry as he encourages San to keep going. He feels in trouble again as San looks to the floor. He was _so_ oblivious.

“I’m trying to figure out how we started dating in the first place.”

Wooyoung hits a block, until he finally shrugs and makes a face, looking at the floor and struggling between trying to make an excuse or tell him the truth. He felt like he’d been too deep into it for him to tell him what was really going on, what was really going to _happen_ , and despite Wooyoung vowing to himself that this was all for a bet, he can’t help but feel wicked.

Guilt was burning in his toes and searing the edges of his heart too much for him to tell him. This would be harder than he thought.

A counterfeit smile grows on his face as he looks at him instead. “Because. I wanted to spend time with you as friends, at first. And now we’re kinda just...dating. I wanna kiss you a lot of the time and take you on dates, even when we're on a date. So I think I like you more than that.”

San gets embarrassed at that last bit, shifting his legs and resting his clammy palms on his thighs.

“So...it’s not a joke?” San asks, normally never asking directly like this and instead opting for silent affirmations to his many questions, but he had to know. 

Maybe it was the alcohol within the party itself that made him feel a little bolder tonight.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung’s heart is aching.

“Why would you think it was a joke?”

“Because we literally hated each other a month ago.”

Wooyoung sets his elbows on his knees and leans forward, looking at him and wanting to pull him out of here to the roof of their apartment, maybe travel the world and explore the bottom of the sea. He wanted to hide under blankets with him and be in his company, just for a distraction from himself. His heart was in a constant fight with his head, and he swallows down another lump of guilt that stung just as bad as he’d expected.

“People change.” Is what he says instead, but it was true in a different sense than San had understood. “I changed. I like you.”

With the way it comes out, it feels like he was trying to convince himself more than San.

“I like you, too. A lot.” San lets that last part slip, because he didn’t know when he would be courageous enough to tell him again. He looks at the floor while Wooyoung studies him, trying to think into his hair. He needs to try to deflect.

“Good, otherwise I’d be sad. And look like a loser.”

San rolls his eyes with a smile. “You are a loser. That, I can’t help you with.”

“Ah, Sannie. Always knowing what to say to make me fall in love with you.” Wooyoung leans back on the couch, finding comfort in how they were going back to less serious conversations and how they usually were with each other.

Wooyoung smiles darkly at him, a smirk that wasn’t supposed to mean as much as San thought it did. Wooyoung takes a sip from his can of beer, his dark eyes scanning the crowd behind San’s shoulder, just to find something else to do with them, before they fall right back on San and he has him looking at his shoes again. 

Wooyoung smiles a little bigger at this because he was successful in packing San down into a silent flurry of blushing cheeks and a heart of feathers, but he doesn’t see it.

“Why’d you get so dressed up, anyway? This is just a college party.” San tells him, watching how he looked in the red lights of the party, watching how he looked against the white plush of the loveseat, watching _him_.

Wooyoung always looked nice to him. He looked especially nice tonight, but San would have expected it more for a dinner with parents, a fancy nightclub even.

“Dressed up? I’m literally wearing a button-down.”

“Yeah, with those chains underneath. And the makeup.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Wooyoung tilts his head in mock-upset, and it’s when he sees San’s eyes widen that he begins to smile again, knowing exactly what was going to come out of San's mouth.

He was too easy.

“I didn’t say that!” 

San’s heart bangs against his ribcage when he sees Wooyoung lean forward on his knees again, looking at him as if he was filled with black holes and San could feel himself becoming trapped in him. He felt weaker tonight than he usually did and he didn't like it.

Not one bit.

“So you think I look hot?” 

“Fucking _Wooyoung—”_

“Hey, Wooyoungie! _And_ San!”

San would have hated an interruption had it been between him and anyone else, but for now, he was glad for Mingi, very drunk and very excited, to come and flop beside him on the loveseat he was on, his smile long and sweet and messy. He throws an arm around San and squishes their cheeks together in a hug, being the first time Mingi had seen San at the party. San giggles and lightly pushes Mingi.

“Mingi, what are you doing?”

Mingi has always been like this, probably one of his favorites in the fact that he was always loving somebody. Even when he was drunk, clouded with alcohol and setting himself up for a hangover when he woke up tomorrow, he was always ready to love. When he was angry or crying over someone, when he was stressed and wanted to be alone, when thunders made a home in his chest and lightning burned cities behind his eyes, he was always ready to give his heart away to them if they needed it, always ready to tangle his friends in his deep-rooted arms and shade them with the love constantly growing from him when they needed it.

San loved Mingi a lot.

“I love you, Sannie!”

San laughs again, feels his heart fill with dawn as he looks over Mingi's legs and chest and over his face and through his hair, seeing the normally green strands were flushed red, making sure nothing was really wrong with him. Mingi slumps heavily on San’s side, blissed out in the way his eyes were glass marbles, in the way he was so excited to see him, his arm falling slack against San’s back as his energy was gone as soon as it came.

“Are you okay?” San asks, and Mingi nods after a delay, shutting his eyes as he rests his head on San’s shoulder.

“Yeah! I just lost Yunho~!”

San looks behind his head for any sign of him, or anything that could give relevance to where his friends were spread out within the party. He gets nothing.

“Did you drink a lot?”

“Not a lot. Me and Joongie did...shots! Or Jongho?” Mingi smiles again, like melted popsicles against the sidewalk in July, and San can’t help but share it, despite how lost Mingi probably was.

“And the punch?”

“Yes, three cups. But I am okay. Not so drunk. I am...okay! Gonna sleep until Yunho comes home, okay?”

San raises his eyebrow as Mingi suddenly goes limp on his shoulder, his eyes shut and his breaths shallow, his fingers lightly holding onto San’s sweater. He looks up at Wooyoung, who’s amused and watching them, and even though San was shy, he felt better knowing that Mingi was here to balance him out, completely checked out or not.

“Can’t believe Mingi got here and didn’t even come to find me.” Wooyoung leans on his knees again, something that San was quickly associating with the way his heart falls for him, slowly like the moon kissing the sun as she rises, and Mingi smiles, his eyes still closed.

“You know I...love! To see your beautiful face, Wooyoungie~. Didn’t know you were here! San should have told me. He always talks about you. That’s the... _least_ he coulda done, right?”

San’s eyes blow wide and Mingi giggles, and he takes the time to not look Wooyoung in the face, to not blow up and splatter his humiliation all over the wall, to not have to hear what Wooyoung would say about it.

Holy _fuck_.

“You talk about me—”

“Mingi, there you are!” Yunho is pushing past someone as he makes his way over, his eyes gleaming in the red lights as a radiant smile is on his face, dripping sunshines into him, making him stand out in the dimness of the room as his mind is completely focused on getting to his soulmate.

Yunho looked like he was made of gold against the darkness of the room. Like flames fluttering upon candles, like treasure tokens in a chest at the bottom of the sea, Yunho was always smiling and pouring gold into everything else, dancing luster and flourishing the brightest of halcyon into everything he looked at. San loved to warm in his rays, loved to bask in his smiles whenever he could. Yunho wore happiness like it should have been thrown in the back of his closet, like it was worth nothing more valuable than anything. 

San loved Yunho a lot, too.

“Yuyu! I was waiting for you!”

“I was gone for like two minutes, Mingi." Yunho grins at him, and then he notices them. "Hello, San. Hi, Wooyoung.” He ducks his head a little, something he did in front of strangers because he got shy meeting new people, his cheeks high like full moons and his black hair falling into his eyes as he greets them.

Mingi gets up from his spot beside San, and he feels like leather, being by himself again.

“Hi, Yu.” San smiles as Wooyoung waves, Mingi getting up on wobbly, popsicle stick legs and making his way over to Yunho.

He tugs on Yunho’s fingers once he gets his attention off of San and Wooyoung, swinging them a little in between them, silently telling him we wanted to go do something before he spoke up.

“Let’s go dance!”

Yunho beams again and Mingi flickers.

“Alright, alright. I’ll try to keep up with you.” 

San watches as Yunho disappears just as quickly as he came over into the crowd with Mingi, leaving San alone with Wooyoung again, in the dark, coldness of a room full of people.

He felt the uneasiness of staring into the mouth of a cave, like he would get lost and never come back out again as they left him. He was uneasy again, but the desire to stay with him created another imbalance. Wooyoung was still leaning on his knees, studying San like a script, and San can’t help but stare at his sweater sleeves while Wooyoung’s eyes burned craters in his skin.

Wooyoung thinks San looked beautiful in red light, and in natural light and the dim lights of the venue and in the moonlight on the roof.

“Why don’t we go dance, too? Getting kinda stale on the couch.” Wooyoung has to raise his voice once the drop in the music washes over them, and San blares just the same with the urge to go dance with him, maybe hide in the crowd for a bit while he figures his head out.

His heart picks up once Wooyoung stands and holds his hand out to him, taking it with less fight from his brain and letting him lead him into the crowd, where people were dancing and drinking and living like today was going to be forgotten after midnight. Wooyoung takes him to a corner, where there were fewer people but there was enough for them not to draw attention to themselves, his hands getting clammy agian as the nerves start to build. As Wooyoung stops, he spots Yeosang and Jongho dancing together and smiling and being normal.

Yeah, that’s all he had to do with Wooyoung. Be normal.

San begins to sail on the music, liking it enough to get himself to dance and try to forget about the people around him, just for a little. Wooyoung finds San’s rhythm, and for a moment, San feels a build-up in his chest as he takes the time to librate himself, to stop being so stressed out for once. 

There was something about Jung Wooyoung that made San feel confident and shy, made him feel scared of change and anticipating every new moment with him, made him feel like taking over the world or hiding in his bathroom until the rest of his day rolled over. There were so many discrepancies within him that came with Wooyoung, constantly clamoring between his heart and his head (and sometimes his legs when they made him do things like get up and dance with Wooyoung at a party).

He was exciting, if not, more than that.

He was passionate and painstaking and wonderful, and the more time they spent together, the more San found himself wanting him, craving his attention and the next chance to touch him, the want to kiss him almost addictive as San thinks about it again tonight.

He always wanted to see him, wanted to know him, wanted to be with him.

He doesn’t know why he’s so drawn to him, nor how they were going so fast in...whatever the hell it was they were in. 

But San didn’t mind so much anymore. 

San didn’t mind the unsolicited smiles Wooyoung would pull from him when they spent time on the roof. He didn’t mind the impromptu adventures that would interrupt his studying or going out to see the world with him. He didn’t mind the steps outside of his comfort zone as Wooyoung pushed him to try new things and make him feel new and alive again, despite never feeling like he needed more.

Even now, when Wooyoung is pressed against him and has his lips so close to his own, without giving him any warning or notice, he feels awake, his body slowly becoming gilded as Wooyoung danced with him, smiling and making him giggle as he spun him around against the cadence of the song like they were made to do so. 

Wooyoung pulls San to him as the song slows down, and his mouth is close to his own again. He wants to freak out, to pull back and go hide away and wait until the party rolled over, but as San felt himself slow down too, the sound of his serenity mingling with his sirens, he didn’t know what to do, or what he felt.

He was gradually getting to a solid answer to what he wanted.

San doesn’t realize his lips are parted, wanting to chase Wooyoung’s own because they were _so close,_ as if he put himself on pause to think about what he wanted to do next. He takes in a sharp breath that chills his entire body. 

He feels Wooyoung’s pull, like magnets again, feels the vibrations in his fingertips from the music, the want inside of his chest, all amplified and multiplied by 100 when Wooyoung brings his hands to San’s waist, trapping him yet again, but he doesn’t want to get out of it anymore. He’s still swaying to the rhythm of the music, red lights swallowing them whole as the music resounds in them, snared in apprehensive steel.

San can’t help but lean up towards Wooyoung’s mouth as his nose brushes his own, his body igniting as if they were kissing each other already. He doesn’t want to break down any barriers, any unspoken boundaries that he might have put up himself, but it was becoming very hard to not want to, with the heat of the party racing with his blood and dancing with his courage while Wooyoung was hot against his skin.

Sober San would never be caught dead like this. The tension to even speak was next to suffocating.

“I want to kiss you.” San tells him, and he feels Wooyoung smile against his lips as he leans down and takes the opportunity.

Finally, _finally,_ Wooyoung kisses San tonight, in a dark corner while the beat dies down to play the next song, and San feels the remnants of the sidechain in his chest as his heart beats deliberately in his ears and his face flushes another shade of rose. He warms of sunsets after dusk, of afterglow above the highest peak, pinks and silvers flooding his chest and spilling from his lips and into the entire room as Wooyoung takes all of the time out of the world and puts it into him.

Wooyoung tastes like cherries as sharp liquor burns his tongue, feels like uncertainty and the dangerous, rocky edges of cliffs above the sea.

His hands were bonfires on his waist as Wooyoung slowly backs them up onto the wall, San hitting it with a soft thud as vibrations from the music racked his body, pressing his lips to San’s in a manner that felt almost needy, and San’s head coalesces with the stars above them as he feels Wooyoung smile against his mouth, knowing he had that same effect on him, too, making him skyrocket as time stilled and the world placated to a slow spin.

San loses himself again as Wooyoung lightly squeezes his waist, bringing his hands up to Wooyoung’s face as if he wouldn’t be real if he didn’t, kissing him again, and again, slow yet fervent, like warm diurnal tides once the sun plants twilight and hangs up the moon. Even now, as they were timeless and lost in each other and breathless, he almost feels like they’re going too fast, as he slides his hands down Wooyoung’s chest while his sensitive fingertips graze over the golden chains peeking through the valley of his shirt, having just met each other over a month ago.

Four and a half dates and here they were.

It’s only when Wooyoung pulls back slightly that San realizes that they were in public, right beside people passing by, people in front and across from him. He really tries not to get embarrassed, to just focus on Wooyoung, but the more he thinks, the less it works.

San takes himself out of the temporary euphoria that Wooyoung has conjured for him faster than he wanted to, looking around them at the many faces and people slinking through the crowd, dancing, drinking, kissing each other and drinking some more.

It wasn’t a big deal, right? People kiss all the time.

No, it was a big deal. San swore he hated this guy just last month.

“Sorry. I should have asked you if it was okay first.” Wooyoung says, his voice close as he steps back from him, looking over his face and taking him in.

Red sinks into his honeyed skin as he looks over his flushed face and his glossed lips, like hot glass in the pretty lights of the party. 

“It was okay. Didn’t think you really wanted to.” San says, takes his hands off of Wooyoung's chest to cover his own face again, and Wooyoung smiles when auroras fill his heart.

San was so endearing.

He brings a hand up to take one of San’s away from his face, letting them fall beside them while he hooks his pinky in his, knowing exactly how to make San crumble with nothing in his arsenal, even now, when it really felt like it was just the two of them at this party.

“Come on a date with me. I was serious about wanting to see you again.”

San wants to say no, wants to go back to hating him, like kissing him was just another one of their stupid conversations, but he couldn’t.

Looking at him now, he couldn’t.

"Okay." He nods. “When?”

“Tomorrow’s fine?” Wooyoung asks, and he suddenly feels like the other night, when he was awaiting an answer that felt like it would determine his fate.

He really hated how San stressed him out so much.

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

Tomorrow.

San can’t stop thinking about tomorrow when the party begins to die down and people slowly trudge out of the house. He can’t stop thinking about tomorrow in Yunho’s car on the way home while Jongho’s soft snores and Mingi’s slurred words about how Yunho dances funny replaced the music from the radio. He can’t stop thinking about tomorrow when he washes himself of the night and tries to scrub Wooyoung out of his skin just the same, and he can’t stop thinking about tomorrow when he wakes up the next day, to a rainstorm and an eager Yunho bringing him a new cup of coffee for them to try together.

San thinks he’s going on another date he didn’t know he’s been waiting for.

Wooyoung thinks he’s that much closer to heartbreak and getting fifty bucks by the end of the month.


	13. kraft

**gigi:** _SOOOOOO WHATS THIS ABOUT SAN AND WOOYOUNG GOING ON DATES_

 **gigi:** _WHATS THIS ABOUT SAN AND WOOYOUNG BEING BOYFRIENDS_

**_OH MY GOD_ **

**yeosangie:** _WHAT_

 **yu:** _WAIT WHAT_

 **gigi:** _MHM YESSIRRR_

 **hwa:** _YOU GOT CHISME???_

 **jongho:** _TELL US WHATS GOING ON WHAT THE HELL_

**_MINGI NO_ **

**_PLS_ **

**_YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL THEM WHATS GOING ON_ **

**_U DON’T HAVE TO ITS NOT REQUIRED_ **

**gigi:** _WELLLL_

 **gigi:** _tbh i dont really know bUT_

 **gigi:** _i was hanging out w wooyoung at the skatepark right_

 **gigi:** _and i was like wyd tomorrow!_

 **gigi:** _and he was like i’m going on a date_

 **gigi:** _like a real one_

 **gigi:** _and i was like with who???_

 **gigi:** _and he was like san_

 **gigi:** _and i was like well arent you going a little too fast like u just met him u know im not one to judge but like didnt u guys hate each other like three weeks ago_

 **gigi:** _and hes like i guess?? i just liked bothering him it was CUTE SEEING HIM GET SHY SO EASILY but i like him a lot_

 **gigi:** _and then he went on like this little rant of like just san_

 **gigi:** _like complete gushing and i was like ???? sir this is a mcdonalds drive thru_

 **gigi:** _but_ _then i was like aw!_

 **gigi:** _so yeah thats why i asked_

 **yeosangie:** _SANS GOT A BOYFRIEND_

 **yu:** _HOW CUTE!!! SANNIEEEEE_

 **hongjoong:** _just woke up tf goes on_

 **hongjoong:** _wooyoung again??? can you come up with something else :|_

 **hwa:** _wow we love character development <33_

 **jongho:** _joong shut the hell up_

**_lit rally shaking wtf_ **

**_thats like_ **

**_really nice (◕︿◕)_**

**_ive never had that happen to me before_ **

**_AND I DO NOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND HHHHH_ **

**jongho:** _he better not be playing san_

 **jongho:** _i’m serious_

 **jongho:** _idk this guy but he was really mean to san the first time they met i trust no man_

 **jongho:** _except for joong <33 _

**yeosangie:** _goddammit jongho why u gotta ruin everything_

 **yu:** _HEY jonghos right_

 **hongjoong:** _if he breaks sans heart we’ll k word him!!_

 **jongho:** _AND THEN TAKE HIS MONEY!!_

 **hwa:** _jONGHO NO—_

 **gigi:** _i think he’ll be okay!_

 **gigi:** _u guys gotta understand wooyoung is really nice but he just takes some getting used to_

**_i like him a lot_ **

**_mingi is right_ **

**_very sweet once u get to know him_ **

**_and we mess with each other a lot it's kinda weird_ **

**_reminds me of yeosang_**

**yeosangie:** _there can only be one_

 **hwa:** _i SAW SAN KISS HIM AT THE PARTY_

 **hwa:** _they r lit rally in love with each other smfh_

 **yu:** _u saw him kiss yeosang?????_

 **yeosangie:** _WAIT_ _WHATDKFNEISJFI_

 **jongho:** _HUH_

 **hwa:** _NO NOT YEOSANG WTF_

 **hwa:** _WOOYOUNG YOU FOOLS!!_

 **yu:** _GROSS_

**_HOWD U SEE US IT WAS DARK_ **

**_AND THERE WAS A HUGE CROWD_ **

**_OH MY GOD_ **

**_I GHATE U GUYS_ **

**jongho:** _HOLD ONW AGR_

 **gigi:** _WAIT WHAT_

 **yeosangie:** _HWA GET BACK HERE EXPLAIN U CANT JUST DROP THAT AND LEAVE_

**_PRETEND U DO NOT SEE_ **

**_IM SO EMBARRASSED PLSWDFHJSHSJS_ **

**gigi:** _HUH_

**_OH MY GOD_ **

**hongjoong:** _HWA I THOUGHT WE WERENT SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT IT_

 **jongho:** _YALL KNEW AND DIDNT TELL US??? FAKES_

 **yu:** _WDYM “WE”???_

 **gigi:** _HONGJOONG—_

**_STOP TALKING ABOUT IT IM SO EMBARRASSED PLS_ **

o(╥﹏╥)o

 **yu:** _SANNIES GOT A BOYFRIEND_

 **gigi:** _im gonna bully the hell out of wooyoung about san when i see him again <33_

**_im gonna go make food_ **

**_drown my thoughts_ **

**_eat to distract me from my feelings_**

**yeosangie:** _omg wait i’ll be home in like five minutes make me some too!!_

 **yeosangie:** _pls <3 _

**hongjoong:** _wait if san is making food im coming over too tf_

 **gigi:** _me too gay rights!!_

 **hwa:** _hold on my study date with mark is almost over save me some!!!_

 **yu:** _gay,,,, rights??¿¿¿??¿??_

**_well i hope u guys like kraft_ **

**gigi:** _YUCK_

 **yeosangie:** _kraft?? say sike right now._

 **hongjoong:** _oh my god what the fuck KRAFT????_

 **yu:** _not him making kraft (╥﹏╥)_

 **hwa:** _on second thought im gonna spend the night w mark we are having trouble with our humanities homework_

 **yeosangie:** _babe i thought u were doing physics homework_

 **hwa:** _yeah thats what i said our psychology homework_

**_just say yall are kraft antis and GO_ **

**_more 4 me!_**

**jongho:** _instead of being terrible friends why dont u guys just go out to eat with each other??_

 **yeosangie:** _bc then we wont have u with us so it doesnt count_

 **gigi:** _yeah i was thinking that too_

 **gigi:** _restaurant!_

 **gigi:** _but jonghos gotta come_

 **jongho:** _if u guys wait like twenty minutes at our apartment i could go with u!_

**_yes lets wait 4 jongho i forgot i ate the last kraft cup last night_ **

**yu:** _YEAH JONGHO <3333 _

**hongjoong:** _jongho i LOVE you_

 **jongho:** _yes joong u kinda have to say that bc ur my soulmate_

 **hongjoong:** _jongho rlly does ruin everything :|_

 **gigi:** _am on the way to sansang/2ho’s rn_

**_2 hoes_ **

**_hehe_ **

**yeosangie:** _san u are probably the lamest guy i know_

 **gigi:** _wooyoung would love that one_

**_SHUT UP_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this gc is so lame pls just pretend like it was funny


	14. we’re on fire, babe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!
> 
> sorry for the late update!!! i wanted to update only when i finished the au buttt im starting uni literally in like 6 hours so i thought why not update now? so here u go ^-^
> 
> TW//BLOOD 
> 
> THERE IS MENTIONS OF BLOOD TOWARDS THE END OF THE CHAPTER AFTER THE THREE DOTS. i don’t describe it in detail, however, if you do not want to read it, you don’t have to!!! it plays a part in the end of the story but please feel free to skip that part!! please stay safe!!!
> 
> END OF TW
> 
> enjoy

Electric.

That would be the word San would use if he had to describe Wooyoung. He was electricity in voltages, wavering potential differences in everything he was, everything he did. 

He was power lines in the morning, when he would stop San before going to class, and he would kiss him like soft currents and gentle power that ran San for the day. He was blue lightning in the afternoon, when he would meet San and want to run the streets with him, pouring his energy into him at its highest peak. He was flickering light bulbs at night, when the sleepy city framed the night almost as perfectly as San felt settled under Wooyoung’s bedsheets and framed in his arms as he slept against him.

They spilled secrets under those same bedsheets a lot, much like San always dreamed of, with his electric smile and electric touches that frizzled San from the inside out and made him brighten across the entire city.

Wooyoung was always tugging him along, no matter how slow San was chugging behind him, quick and addictive like caffeine while he was hooked on his sharpest ends. San really couldn’t get enough of him, finding himself craving his attention, his presence, even when he was in it, even when he couldn’t feel his lungs and he was running his feet to bones trying to keep up with Wooyoung.

He doesn’t think he’d ever know what was wrong with him. He doesn’t think he’d ever know what to call the feeling if he had to.

Love? No. Yearning? Not really.

Just electric, is all.

He thinks that would fit better than anything else.

“You’re thinking.” 

Wooyoung interrupts him again, as he’s lying beside him after his last class for the day, and his voice is soft, like white plush and autumn.

He’d projected his head into Wooyoung’s purple sweater tonight, drawing abstract shapes that represented almost what was going on through his head, and his best squiggly lines around them, trying to trap them so that they wouldn’t run too wild tonight. They always did. 

And even in silence, San felt too loud.

Wooyoung has an arm over his shoulder, keeping him close as he buried his thoughts in the ceiling. 

San breathes. He was okay.

Listening to his soft breaths reel him in, as the tide does when they simper back to shore, San feels calm, yet vicious in the same manner, and he doesn’t think he would ever understand how he lets Wooyoung affect him so easily, move him so effortlessly, by just staying quiet and breathing with him. 

San stops drawing once he notices the colors on his hand as the twilight peeks in at them through the window.

The sun was taking its time falling outside, frayed magentas and pale violets marbling over San’s fingers and settling ochre in Wooyoung’s sweater, amplifying San’s thoughts by a million and ten as the world filtered through Wooyoung’s chest, as clouds settled in his hair and the stars rose over his skin.

San always thought Wooyoung was lovely, always thought he held the sky in him when beams would shine from his smile or the clouds would settle in his throat when he spoke to him.

Lovely. It was such a fitting word for him.

“How’d you know?” San asks finally, and his heart belongs among fireworks once Wooyoung locks his phone to pay attention to what he has to say, letting his fingers lazily graze the warm skin of his shoulder from where his sleeve had ridden up.

This time, San didn’t mind being so transparent with him. 

Maybe he would tell him what he was thinking of. Maybe he wouldn’t.

He didn’t know yet. His head hurt just trying to think about it.

“You stopped drawing squigglies on me.”

San almost wants to hide his blush in Wooyoung’s chest for noticing something so simple, though he couldn’t see it, even if he wanted to. He’s shy again, looking into Wooyoung’s wall, white with hues of pink rose petals in the shapes of the window panes on it, like small paintings. 

San sometimes felt like they belonged in an art museum themselves, in the abstract works, or the artist’s favorite sculpture exhibits.

He felt like a masterpiece around him, when he would look at him with affluence and hold him with expense, when he would hold him like porcelain and make him melt like colored crayons under a flame.

He felt very beautiful around Wooyoung, sometimes.

Only sometimes. 

“I am thinking.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

San didn’t even really know what to tell him. What _was_ he thinking about? He couldn’t say he was thinking of electricity and yellow flowers and crayons and the silver hoop in his nose.

That would be a little weird.

San softly shakes his head no, bringing his hand off of Wooyoung’s chest and hiding it near his chin, as if his fingers would break off from the coldness in the air if he didn’t. 

Wooyoung immediately thinks of something else, being with San long enough to know that he had many things to say, but was also alright with keeping them in. 

Wooyoung had learned that he was also alright with that.

“Okay. Tell me about...hm...tell me about you. We’ve been dating for a little, but...I still don’t know much about you.” Wooyoung admits, and while he loosens his arm from around San and opts for lying on his side to look at him directly, San dissolves into his bedsheets and through the floor and disappears into the earth when Wooyoung gazes at him with so much...what?

Love? Patience? Attention?

San feels so shy.

Wooyoung was close to him, now, facing him and peering into his insecurities and probably studying every fault that he had. It was only a matter of time before he broke apart and caused earthquakes in him to burn down cities, if he kept looking at him like that, with napalm behind his eyes, so ready to make him catch fire.

San imagines lillies when he looks at Wooyoung for a moment, and that puts out the budding flames beneath his cheeks and calms his butterflies for a moment. San imagines the prettiest white roses and the gentle take of dandelions through the wind as he looks into Wooyoung today, watches the daisies grow in his chest, and stay for the sun to rise.

San was okay.

“Well...um…”

San wasn’t very good in the spotlight. Nor out of the spotlight, either. He takes his eyes off of Wooyoung for a moment, steps off of his sand beaches and away from the flower patches for a little to not freak out. 

“I’m turning twenty-one soon. July.”

“July, hm? You like parties?” Wooyoung asks, as San shakes his head. 

“Not big ones. I just spend it with my friends.” San says, and that was it.

Wooyoung wants San to talk more, to fill the nooks of his room and his empty ears with his pretty voice. His voice was so shy, as if searching for something he could hold onto and call his own. It reminded Wooyoung of snow.

San is still looking at Wooyoung’s sweater.

“What else should I know about you?” 

San shrugs and shakes his head.

“Come on, baby. There’s gotta be something. Just tell me anything. I wanna know.”

And he did, but getting to know him wasn’t the only reason for encouraging him to talk about himself.

And San does think, just this once, trying to feel comfortable with talking about himself.

He tells him that he likes coffee with a lot of sugar, even at night, and that he looked forward to Yunho coming home with a new recipe to give them in the morning. He tells him that he liked flowers and stopped to look at them if they were pretty and yellow. 

He tells him that his favorite color was not yellow.

Wooyoung learned that he likes strawberry milk and lemon taffy, and when he made a face at him, that made San laugh. He tells Wooyoung his favorite color was black, but he painted his room white because it reminded him of blank slates and starting over.

If he wanted to paint something with Yeosang’s acrylics but hated how it turned out, he would just paint it white again. If something spilled on his wall that he didn’t know about, he would just paint it white again. If paint chipped off, just paint it white.

White was good. Blank slates were very good.

“Starting over? What are you running from?” Wooyoung asks, and San shrugs, swallowing. 

A lot of the time, it felt like he was running from himself, like he was running from his friends and his universe and his Wooyoung. 

“I don’t know.” Is what he says instead.

And Wooyoung got it. 

He knew what running felt like, and he knew what starting over felt like as well. He didn’t question San about it after, because he got his answers in the way San’s eyes were distant and settled on his sweater again. San counts the number of times Wooyoung blinks in his peripherals to fill up the space he’d accidentally created.

“I get it.” He says. San counted four. “And it feels good to have a blank slate when you wake up in the morning. You can decide how your new day is going to go.”

San nods, kind of. “Yeah. It just...I don’t know. Gives me control over...me. But also the freedom to lose control, too. If that makes sense.”

Wooyoung nods. “It’s good to have control. It’s also good to lose it. I get it. I’m always running.”

And San feels confident for the first time in a while. 

He feels like gold again, like how the sun sweeps a powdered tuscany over the city in the morning and how it sets on the offing of where the water meets the horizon. He feels like jewels and he feels like diamonds.

He feels awake.

Wooyoung understands.

“I feel like I’m starting over a lot. Especially now.” San tells him.

Wooyoung reaches out to him, lightly holds his blooming cheek in his hands and watches the roses grow out of the door and through the roof. His skin was so warm. Touching him felt close.

He felt like home.

“Me too,” Wooyoung says, earning a shy smile from San and a longing for it that he didn’t know he had. They were so differently similar to one another, opposite ends of the same orbit, constantly circling and exploring each other, but just at different times. They were good together. 

“I get it.” He says again.

And it wasn’t ever too late to start over. Wooyoung did that more times this month than he thought he was capable of, but he did. San was his blank slate, his forgiveness, and source of guilt and evils and angel wings all in one.

“Do you really?” San brings his own hand up to take Wooyoung’s from his cheek, looking at him and hoping that he just made even a little sense, but Wooyoung looks isolated and he doesn’t know if he struck the wrong chord in him.

He broke down his confidence tonight, but it didn’t feel as good as he imagined.

Starting over. 

Wooyoung needed to call off the bet.

He finally nods. 

“Yeah.” He blinks twice this time. “I get it.”

~❁~

When Wooyoung goes to the skatepark later, after San left for the night, he caught his side on one of the railings. 

He ruins his sweater and leaves an inkblot of crimson on the back of his skateboard as he made his way home, his hand a mess while his entire body was caught in a numbed sting, like acid was his blood and it had no purpose but to pool in his head.

San wakes up to a frantic Yunho and his messy, red bedsheets, and by the time they were able to change and clean his stomach off, there was a dark blotch in his white mattress and a white bandage over his stomach.

Yeosang has to leave right in the middle of a test as the pain dizzies him for a moment, the corner of his notes blooming into withered rose petals where they sat at the very edge of his desk, not looking forward to making it up next week, and throwing out his favorite shirt as he got home.

Yeosang was most upset about the situation.

There was a slight, glassy drizzle set over the town by the time he takes a shower and washes his stomach off, silently kissing over their windows and making a sound like an applause as it hits the roof above them.

“Dude. Our soulmate is fucking annoying.” Yeosang says, irritation lacing his words as he meets San in the kitchen, wearing a clean, dark shirt. Just in case.

“Hey, don’t be mean to them.” San spoons another mouthful of cereal, wiping off the milk trailing down his chin just as Yeosang sighs through his nose, like when bulls see angry red capes and it makes their entire world just as resentful.

“Easy for you, dude. Yunho had to wake you up for you to notice. The pain was so terrible.” Yeosang says, shaking his head. “Now I have to make up my stat test next week.”

San knew he shouldn’t feel bad at that, because it was true. He never had to worry about pain, so this wasn’t a big deal to him.

But he doesn’t want to talk as much anymore.

“Yeah.” San leans on the counter again, pushing the rest of his cereal around with his silver spoon.

Yeosang carefully slides into the chair at the counter, grimacing at the pain, San listening to the muffled and distant sound of Jongho’s shower running. 

He slots the tip of his tongue in between his teeth and lightly bites it while Yeosang speaks up again. Maybe he’s used up all of his no-pain-points with this one. 

Maybe he would feel it.

“Yu says it should stop hurting by tomorrow night. Just don’t hurt yourself more ‘till then, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt and not realize it” 

San nods, trying to sink his teeth into his tongue, just to prove Yeosang wrong tonight. He wanted proof that he used up all of his no-pain-points. And then Yeosang would take it back.

But there was still nothing, no matter how hard he did.

He sighs once he tastes the slightest bit of copper and goes back to his cereal.

“Yunho’s gonna make a good doctor one day, don’t you think?”

And while Yeosang nods, a small smile on his face as San was able to spotlight their attention onto something else, he wonders just how bad the pain would have been for him, had he felt it.

Would it be as bad as Yeosang said it was? Would it be better? Would his pain tolerance be the same?

And he stops thinking about it once he realizes he’s never had to think about a pain tolerance in his life.

Never, ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!
> 
> p.s. i posted a seongi siren/merman au if you wanna read it,, it’s a bit more detailed and has very sullen undertones bUT!! there’s nothing descriptive in it!!


	15. you’re still on!

**hobi:** _ so its been a month _

**hobi:** _ hows san _

**_he’s fine_ **

(Think of the devil, and he will appear.

Wooyoung wasn’t particularly in the mood to hear antics from his brother today. He needed to get straight to the point while he had him active on the other end of the line. His thumb hovers over his keyboard, feeling a lump of indecisiveness build in his throat. 

He looks at the white wall across from him, right beside his dark bathroom, trying to think.

It was just a few words. A simple thing. He could do it.)

**hobi:** _ just “fine”? _

**hobi:** _ no master plan that youre working out?? _

**_actually, i think i’m going to call it off_ **

(Wooyoung’s finger hovers over the blue send button, his hands feeling like a magnetic push away from his phone as he watches his thumb shake right over the glow of his phone. 

It felt like he couldn’t push it, even if he tried to. And he  _ wanted _ to, to get rid of the guilt that’s been rubbing his skin raw for the past few weeks. He wanted to be in love with San without feeling like there were cages around him.

He wanted to be in love with San.

Wooyoung looks through his window, at the sidewalk slick with warm rain puddles, watching how the sun casts glitters and glass marbles over the top of it while finding his thoughts in the street.

He sighs heavily, before deleting the message.) 

**_i think i need more time_ **

**_next month is going to be here in like two weeks_ **

**hobi:** _ literally what the hell are you even doing _

**hobi:** _ and just call it off because i know its not working out _

**hobi:** _ as i said _

(Wooyoung gets annoyed. Very, very irritated.

He just doesn’t know if it was at himself or his stupid brother.

He types the message out again, his thumb shaking as it lingers over the send button. He thinks about San, thinks of how much more he was worth than some stupid bet. He wanted to be with him without the zip ties and elastics of a bet around his wrists. He wanted to be with him without the threat of being found out for a crime he didn’t even want to be a part of anymore.

Wooyoung was falling face first, and very quickly at that, into a bed of roses. He could see the thorns and the soggy ground as he did, could see how bad this would turn out if he kept going and letting himself plunge.

He deletes the message again once Hoseok texts him.)

**hobi:** _ r u busy?? ur taking a while to text _

**hobi:** _ just talk to me later if you wanna call off the bet _

**_im not calling it off_ **

**_i just need more time_ **

**hobi:** _ alrighttt _

**hobi:** _ how much time? _

(Wooyoung couldn’t put a limit on it. 

He needed forever and a day to figure it out.

He needed to call it off to figure it out.)

**_next month_ **

**hobi:** _ alright _

**hobi:** _ and we’ll keep it at fifty? _

**_we should lower it to 25_ **

**hobi:** _ sounds 2 me like you wanna call it off _

**_i just said i didn’t_ **

(Wooyoung deletes it.)

**_i kinda want to_ **

(Wooyoung deletes it.)

**_yes lets call it off i need to_ **

(Wooyoung deletes it again.)

**_no_ **

**_next month_ **

**_fifty bucks_ **

**hobi:** _ hm _

**hobi:** _ alright. youre still on _


	16. soulmates?

San had some of the brightest colors Wooyoung had ever seen. 

He loved when night fell, when the world was drenched in shadows and brought out the prettiest hues from him.

San glows magenta when they're in the privacy of his apartment and speaking jade into the air, his bones shiny with cerulean when they take on the night, while amber flows through his blood and under his skin of silver. He wore black all the time, dark colors to fit in, but Wooyoung thinks that there was no place for San blend.

He never wanted to see San blend.

It was a selfish thought, he knew, but it still made him feel lucky to know only he could see San’s paintings as he marked colors all over the canvas of his apartment, inked the prettiest shades into his lips, and poured acrylic over the town when they felt like exploring together.

It’s been two more weeks since they last saw each other.

San told Wooyoung that he got a minor injury from his soulmate, and that he needed to rest for them to feel better. Wooyoung didn’t really know Yeosang anyway, didn’t know the type of person he was and if he’d been reckless or not, save for the fact that he skates sometimes.

When he asked about it over the phone, about what happened, San had just told him not to worry.

_Just don’t worry. It’s not a big deal. They’re just a little clumsy._

But it was a big deal to finally see him again, after so long of being apart. Two weeks, two years, two centuries.

It was like a silent longing for him, as if he needed San around more than he ever cared to admit. He was a lagniappe, a gift for him made of shy smiles and star swept cheeks that he wouldn’t trade the world for.

Choi San was so valuable to him.

And now, as San was stroking gold over Wooyoung’s cheeks, as he was indenting violets into his chest and occasionally kissing lazy teal into his lips between their conversations, Wooyoung feels like he would drown in him. 

He doesn’t know when or how, but he knows he’s going to drown. 

He was waiting for it.

San had been talking about class, Wooyoung almost too entranced in how sugar drips from his mouth to really pay attention to details.

He only stops when he hears clanking, like pots falling to the floor or dishes rumbling. It was a muffled sound, but still pretty loud nonetheless, and San completely paused as he sat atop Wooyoung’s lap, looking towards the wall behind Wooyoung’s head and stopping the world with him.

“Someone is in the kitchen.” He says, and Wooyoung nods, remembering just how thin the walls were, and that he could hear exactly everything and nothing from the other side if he tried.

“Probably your roommates,” Wooyoung says, his hands gentle on San’s hips as his thumbs lightly graze the warmed skin beneath his black shirt.

“Maybe. Yu is home, I think. Anyway!” San gets a burst of energy and bounces on top of Wooyoung, excited for a moment, and it makes Wooyoung smile at him as a burst of vermillion paints the walls. “Do you wanna study calc together? I’m stuck with partial derivatives.”

Wooyoung nods, eager to spend more time with San, even if it revolves around something like stupid _math._ Wooyoung wasn’t very good at it, himself, but he decided that he would try extra hard to be the best when the time came.

“Okay. We could go to class together that day. I always forget my calculator in my room from all those comp assignments.” San scrunches his nose and Wooyoung falls in love. “I’ll try not to, so I don’t slow you down.”

And suddenly, another bout of guilt flows through Wooyoung, filling his lungs and his nose and mouth with salty contrition as he looks into San’s eyes, into the many universes that he’s created with him, and his vastness and capacities and everything he has yet to discover about him. 

He feels so guilty about him. 

It felt like he couldn’t give him up, even when he knew he should. San was quickly meaning a lot more to him at an alarming rate; as if they were supposed to be together and if he let something like this bet ruin them, the world would end.

And then he thinks that maybe he dramatized San a little too much.

Still, it makes Wooyoung feel sick.

He feels even worse when San catches it, picks up on it so easily like how he picked up on everything else about him that he never bothered to mention.

“Woo? What’s wrong?” San speaks like crepuscular this time, piercing through his muddled greys and Wooyoung feels better, if only for a couple of seconds.

He shrugs, his conscience tearing itself apart from within him as he thinks too much of what to say, how to even say it. 

_I’m just thinking about how I came into this with the intent to make money off of you, but you’re worth more to me than fifty fucking dollars and I’m afraid I’ll end up hurt more than you will._

“I’m just thinking.” Is what he says instead, scratches out that last bit opts for going the safer route.

No, the cowardly, dumb, guiltier route.

“Are you running again?” San asks, and despite it not meaning to hold so much weight, Wooyoung cannot hold up how heavy that felt when it came out of San’s mouth, his voice soft and airy like it belonged breezing through doldrums as well.

The air around them was humid with all of Wooyoung’s worries, like the first bits of humidity before the worst storm you can imagine. His chest felt like it housed nothing but dusty winds when they blew over his frigid heart, his skin feeling too tight to really be comfortable _._

He wanted to scream, to find a ladder to the very top of the earth, and scream about this into the stars until his lungs were dry.

He had been running for so long, his shoes worn at the soles and his knees were numb. He was burning and he could barely breathe sometimes with how much he had always been _running._

Not once has he ever stopped. Being with San made him want to run away faster, to leave him in the dust in spite, for being able to catch up with him and keep up the pace, if not run faster than he did.

Not once will he ever stop.

San’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer and the rest of the world, until Wooyoung finally nods. He was running, and San was right. It was the least he could do, give him one solid ounce of clarity within the lie that was quickly flooding his chest more times than he could swim through.

San feels like he understood. 

Wooyoung was thinking deeply about something, very much recently. But San was thankful that they met each other, especially for reasons like this. 

Whenever he was running from something, it always felt good to have someone come with you, even if they were the very same reason why you started to get away in the first place. Being with Wooyoung, when waking up to the blank slate wasn’t enough, _was_ enough.

He would always come back to him.

There was something about Wooyoung not being himself, that made San want to trust him more. That kind of vulnerability was rare to come by, and while Wooyoung was more than that, San wanted to give him his heart and his soul and everything else in between to make sure he wasn’t alone in any other aspect of himself.

“Okay.” He says, leaning against Wooyoung’s chest and snaking his arms up around him, hugging him and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Wooyoung is reminded of the sandbox. 

“We can run together. I’ll be with you. I’ll keep up for you.”

And that makes Wooyoung want to cry. 

San was comfort. He was lazy days and morning showers and the way the taste of coffee brings a bittersweet nostalgia to his heart in the morning. He was waking up while the birds were quiet for you to think about the dream you just had, was dew drops on leaves at dawn and broken seashells lining the shores of the beach at dusk. 

San was everything Wooyoung wanted, everything he dreamed of and everything he wasn’t. 

And with the way he so easily makes everything better, even when Wooyoung didn’t deserve it, it made him feel like rough diamonds in San’s arms.

He didn’t deserve him.

Wooyoung always wished there was a good time to tell him certain things that come to mind, especially during a time like this. 

But instead, he trails his arms around his waist and traps him like ivy, pressing a kiss of feathers to his cheek and letting his guilt trickle out into the bedsheets beneath them. San pulls back a little, a small smile on his lips that kindled a candle flame in Wooyoung’s chest as he rests his hands on his hips again, never knowing how he really ended up with him whenever he looked at him like that.

He wouldn’t have dreamt it back when San was banging on his door to tell him to be quiet, annoyed and resentful and embarrassed.

“You wanna go out? Maybe that will get your mind off of things.” San asks, running his fingers through Wooyoung’s black hair as a small smile peaked his lips again. “Maybe we could take the metro to Canada and find some food trucks.”

Wooyoung grins, but ultimately shakes his head as his thumb trails over San’s skin again.

“Wanna stay here with you. You always know what to say. How did I get so lucky?” Woo’s voice sounds like autumn, how soft and warm and genuine the weather felt once the leaves turned red. 

San’s heart fills and he wants to tell Wooyoung he loved him, loved everything about him, more so when he said things like that. 

He was making it so easy to want to tell him.

But he doesn’t. Not tonight.

“I wanna know the same about you,” San asks, his pink lips radiating over his words, sweet like strawberry sugar as he strokes another line of gold onto Wooyoung’s cheek.

He holds his face in one hand, and Wooyoung feels the heat from his heart seep into his skin, filling him with temporary forgiveness that made his skies brighten and his stars flash, even if it was just for a little bit, hopeful that they would work out for each other.

San always knew how to make him hope.

And while Wooyoung kisses him under the sail of the sunset, breathes him in like the pull of the tide as San tattoos more teal into his lips, he lets his hands venture out a bit more than where he kept them. Wooyoung loved to touch San, whether it be physically or not. He reminded him so much of adventure.

Yet, while he was brushing his fingers over his sensitive skin, wandering and aimless and inquisitive, he fills with dread when he feels it.

There was no way.

Wooyoung swallows and beelines light kisses across San’s jaw, trying not to make it so obvious that he was stuck on something, trying not to make it so obvious that his blood was cold and his stomach was churning.

It was a scar, right on his tummy. 

He had one in that same exact place, from when he fell on the railing at the skatepark. 

He remembered its shape from his own, and as he brushed his thumb over the end of it, it began scaring him more than he thought it really should.

He lets his hand drag somewhere else, just _anywhere else_ but that scar. 

He wants to ask about it, to put his questions and worries to rest in the fact that maybe San just coincidentally _happened_ to fall on another railing, too. Maybe he had surgery that he’d rather not talk about, and that’s why he was gone for two weeks. 

Wooyoung thinks of many more reasons why San would have his scar on his stomach, to drown out his thoughts and put his anxieties to rest, but they all ended up at brick walls and dead ends, and as flashing red stop lights fill his head, he can’t help but go back to an idea he’s had for a little while, that would explain everything for him.

And suddenly, Wooyoung wants to be alone. 

He didn’t want to run so much anymore.

Choi San was going to be his downfall. 

He didn’t know how much more he was supposed to take before then.


	17. hurts to hear, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay last one before i leave 4 another millennium 
> 
> thank you for reading and sticking with it!! i hope this chapter conveys san in a way that feels realistic.
> 
> pls enjoy!

It was raining today.

San was dreading to go to class in the cold prickle of the rain, but he felt like it wasn’t going to be as bad as he expected. 

It was a light drizzle, very minimal and soft for now, but San knew if he didn’t head out of the door soon, it would pick up and he’d be freezing from the inside out while he sat through his entire hour-long lecture. 

He hurries up in trying to get ready, quickly buttoning his jeans and sitting on the bed to cuff them, hearing the springs creak beneath him.

San had been thinking nearly too much lately, trying to balance studying for math and Jung Wooyoung on his little mental makeshift balance, made of toothpicks and scotch tape from the craft store. 

And he wasn’t very good at it, but he managed to understand partial derivatives a bit more while also thinking of the next time he’d be able to hang out with Wooyoung during their study date.

It seemed like San thought of him a lot recently. He sometimes wondered if Wooyoung did the same.

He blushes at the thought of being on Wooyoung’s mind just as much, and has to stop thinking about it for now.

And as if on cue, Wooyoung gently knocks on the wall and San smiles, looking over as if he could see him.

_“San? You’re going to class today?”_

Wooyoung’s voice muffled as it spread across the wall.

“Yeah. Just…” San feels his heart race and his mind fizz out for a moment before he focuses on what he needs to do. _Get ready for class, fix your hair._ “Park is gonna review homework today. I wanna try...I need to study a bit more. That might help.”

San pushes his specs back up his nose as he finishes his other pant leg, feeling them lightly slide down the bridge of his nose.

He then realizes how much of a nuisance raindrops were on specs, but he knew he didn’t have time to put his contacts in.

Jeez.

_“Did you eat breakfast?”_

San deflates once more at the taste of toothpaste and fluoride mouthwash on his tongue rather than the bitter remnants of coffee or an energy drink or _something_ that would help him get through class. It was only an hour, but it felt like years, especially when he couldn’t eat and he was anticipating the absolute humiliation of his stomach growling in the middle of class.

He sighs heavily, going into his bathroom with another worry to stack on top of his leaning tower. “No. I forgot.”

_“I’ll bring you something. Or maybe we could go to lunch together?”_

San smiles, though Wooyoung couldn’t see it. The thought of spending time with him, no matter how minimal, always made San fill with rainbows and the grin of sunshine on a pretty day. 

He was always _feeling_ with Wooyoung.

He thinks it’s crazy for him to love this much. He loved nearly everything when it came to Wooyoung, with himself slowly inching to the top beside him. It took a while, but San was starting to like his smile.

Just a little.

“Yeah, let’s go together. That sounds lovely.”

Lovely, lovely. Wooyoung was lovely. 

San liked that word a lot.

_“I’ll meet you. I have class later, so we don’t have to rush. I look forward to seeing you, baby.”_

San darts his eyes away from his reflection just as a blush creeps across his cheeks at the pet name, quickly raking his fingers through his hair and smoothing down the flyaways before quickly leaving the bathroom, as if his reflection would point and laugh at him for getting so shy over things Wooyoung said during their second (almost third) month of dating each other. 

How dumb.

“I-I’ll see you, Woo. Thank...thank you.” He speaks into the air, and he could practically see Wooyoung smile at him, that blooms tulips and turns tides. 

San can’t help but do the same, whether Wooyoung was grinning back or not, and he almost wants to drop by his apartment to talk to him more and kiss him and spend time with him before he _really_ has to go to class.

But he doesn’t. He didn’t have time. 

And Wooyoung probably didn’t want to see him so much, anyway.

San sighs again and grabs his black backpack, the dull and slightly chipped pins he’s stuck on it as a freshman glinting a dimmed spark in the morning sunlight. He suddenly feels a slight sense of dread, never being one to enjoy going to class and setting himself up for possible disaster in front of his classmates. 

Nothing ever happened, but San had an irrational fear of embarrassment and always prepared himself for the worst.

What if he fell in front of them? What if he said the wrong answer when he was called on? What if his tummy rumbled too loud in the middle of the lecture because he was getting hungry?

He left his apartment with more worries and his tower was so very close to tipping over, it felt like he had to walk carefully to balance his head on the way to class.

It was pretty outside today. Birds were singing, and San always loved it when they did. The sky was dipped in a light apricot, framed with thin ivory clouds as the sun dripped heat across the street. 

San really liked this town more than he cared to admit. Of course, he would love to run through the big cities with his friends some nights, but he was perfectly content with living right here.

Perfectly content. He never thought he’d really think of those words when crossing the street, especially when crystals of rain decorate his glasses the more steps he took.

But as soon as his feet hit the seventh strip of white paint within the wet crosswalk, he remembers he forgot his calculator, right on his bed. 

_Again._

“Shit, _shit_.” 

San pulls his phone out from his back pocket when he makes it back to the sidewalk, seeing he had exactly fifteen minutes before class started as small raindrops splash over his screen and on his shoulders, already indulging in the frigid ruse of his wet clothes as it picked up exactly now. 

The university wasn’t far. 

He would be in a seat by the time his professor walked into class, assuming she was a little late herself if he went back for it. And he was considering just leaving it, but with his luck, they would review partial derivatives some more and he’d be screwed sideways if he didn’t have his calculator with him.

And with a final groan, San’s tower topples over and he finds himself rushing to push open his apartment door. He found a new way to open it without much chaos — kicking things always worked in some way or another, and in this case, it loosened the door enough to only cost one push rather than the standard five to ten.

A panic was sweeping over his shoulders, and he felt like if he rushed, everything would go wrong.

Murphy’s 2nd law of motion or something like that.

When San gets into his apartment, he immediately goes into his bedroom to find it, leaving the door open to make a quick escape once he grabs it. It was always near his bed.

The nightstand, maybe? 

He hears the faint sound of a shower next door, and Wooyoung is speaking out loud but San never questioned it because he did that sometimes when he was home alone, too. He was probably watching a show or playing a video game as he does. 

He didn’t question it.

_“Just forget about the bet, alright?”_

San’s eyebrows come together as he pauses to listen, but he really didn’t want to eavesdrop. He wasn’t like that, had never been one to do it, though he really wanted to figure out what Wooyoung was talking about.

He resumes trying to find his calculator instead, pulling back his blankets and looking for the purple and blue paint that made up the handcrafted galaxy on the cover (made by his favorite and only known art major friend, Yeosang). 

His eyes scan over the area on the floor by his nightstand as another bout of dread floods over him at the thought of walking into his class late in the middle of a lecture. He was very much debating even going anymore.

_“Yeah, dude. Forget about it.”_

He checks his analog clock, seeing he still had a couple of minutes within his safety window. He drops to his hands and knees quickly and presses his cheek on the floor to look underneath his bed, seeing it just underneath the dark bed frame.

Perfect.

_“—the truth? I can’t do it. It was stupid of me to even think about it.”_

San swallows and stops, clutching his calculator as he sits up, his knees aching from the hardwood floor. Listening was almost inevitable at this point. Wooyoung sounded very upset, and in turn, made San worry. 

Maybe there was a way that he could help him, through whatever it was he was upset about?

San stands up and sighs, shaking his head and running another hand through his hair as he grabs his backpack again, eyes scanning over the analog clock as Wooyoung’s shower runs and a sheen of disquiet skims his skin.

He needs to go right now.

_“—with it. I can’t do that to San. Fifty bucks aren’t worth it. Besides, it’s impossible. I ended up liking him a lot more than I expected and I don’t want to get hurt, either.”_

San has to stop again, this time, because his legs feel like jello and it was getting a little harder to take steps towards the door.

His stomach now really feels empty, and his heart is beating loud in his hollow ears at the mention of his name and what followed right after. Slowly, he tries his best to calm himself down, listening to Wooyoung and the rain outside as it got heavier with San’s bones. 

It was difficult to breathe.

What did he mean? Fifty bucks? Impossible? Pain?

San wills himself to move closer to the wall, really wanting to just leave and pretend he never heard it, but the deed was done and he was terrified of what would leave Wooyoung’s mouth next. 

_“Yeah. Call it off. I’ll give you the fifty, whatever. I can’t do that to San. I can’t make him feel pain, man, I won’t.”_

San blinks, his head feeling like a void as his thoughts tumble out of his ears and fill the entire room with silent chaos. What did he mean? 

What did he _mean?_

The shower stops, finally, and the sound of hooks sliding across the shower bar pierce through his head like a silver needle. He feels frozen, but he doesn’t know if it’s from the rain-soaked into his clothes from earlier, or because he pieced everything together in the time it took Wooyoung to stop his shower and turn his phone volume up to hear Hoseok better. 

But finding out he was the root for a bet, made him feel ten times colder, ten times more worthless, ten times more horrible.

_“Yes, Hoseok. It’s done...Uh-huh...Okay. Goodbye.”_

He wanted to break the wall down and punch Wooyoung for doing that to him, for his tone to be the same as if he were talking to San and for being so apathetic about the whole thing. He wanted to cry at him and yell at him and do everything you’re supposed to do when you find something like this out. 

There was a lump in his throat that tasted like acid and regret and it stung to swallow it down as his lungs shrunk, feet feeling rooted to the ground.

He wasn’t going to cry. He couldn’t cry. Maybe he didn’t hear him correctly.

Yeah. He didn’t hear him right, is all.

There’s a sound of shuffling and the slight creak of Wooyoung’s old bed that San had been accustomed to recently. 

He’s on his bed.

San tried his best to grip the strap of his backpack as it slung over his shoulder, but it was slipping out of his clammy palms and he felt like crying as hard as he could in the middle of his room.

“W-Wooyoung?”

His voice gives out right after his name, his throat burning again.

_“San? Why are you…? I thought you went to class.”_

Wooyoung’s getting frantic, as there’s another creak and San assumes he’s stood up. 

He sighs from the other side of the wall, but San couldn’t tell if it was from defeat or annoyance. Wooyoung didn’t say anything else.

It felt regretful.

“My...my calculator. I left it…I…” San doesn’t really know what to say as he tries to speak, but he wants to ask him many things, wants to scream many things and punch many things, but he can’t. 

He can’t find the right words, if there were even any.

_“Did you...did you hear...all of what we...of what we said?”_

San stares at the wall, and could practically see Wooyoung standing there in his stupid towel, looking terrified and _dumb._

“Y-yeah, I…” San is too scared to say anything else, too scared to choke on his own words and spill into his floor with his calculator in his hand.

The questions are circulating in the air, but by the time it all comes to San’s head for him to go on with speaking it, his ships had already tanked and the sea was getting too rough for him to stay afloat. His voice cuts off, like melting candle wax, and as he begins to crumble from the inside out as he drowns.

His chest filled with the salty crash of the waves against the shore, toppling sandcastles and making a mess of the pretty utopia they had built up together in a matter of seconds. His skies were dark and invasive, the clouds ashen and smudged and tainted. He feels hot tears skim down his cheeks, one after the other, and he feels too hot to be comfortable in his own skin as he thinks of a place where he would be okay, for once.

Anywhere but here.

He leaves his apartment, forgetting the key on the table and his calculator on his bed again, and he runs into the rain, into his favorite worst memories of the many times he’s fallen asleep to the rain and the sounds it made over the roof in Wooyoung’s room. 

He felt disgusting now.

The sidewalk was hard under his worn sneakers as rain flattened over his hair and stung his eyes, washing the color from his face and melting him from the inside out. His lungs were burning as he made his way into the university, trying his best not to fall apart in the middle of the courtyard and in front of the few college kids under the breezeway.

He tried, but sometimes, his best wasn’t good enough. 

By the time he reaches the cafe, completely barren except for Yunho about to thankfully finish his shift until nighttime, San feels pieces of himself fall out of his hands and shatter on the ground underneath his feet.

Everything was a mess. Everything was ruined. 

San was ruined.

And for the first time ever, San feels such an unbearable pain rooted in him that it makes him dizzy and his stomach churn. For the first time ever, San feels a searing and burning pain in his chest that makes walking through an inferno seem less than. 

For the first time ever, San feels real _pain_ within him that he couldn’t get rid of, even if he tried.

It dawns on him, like a hard weight slowly crushing him, that Wooyoung got exactly what he wanted from the start. 

San cries harder into Yunho’s chest when he rushes to him, hiding him from the rain in his arms without asking many questions. He lets him cry into his big blue sweater, lets him soak up his tears and the storms in his head that Meghalaya could never top. 

Everything he’s felt lately, everything that he thought made him invincible and unstoppable had all been because of Jung Wooyoung. Everything he’s opened up to, didn’t bother to put more walls back up after they’ve been repeatedly torn down, was because of him. 

He was stupid for ever thinking someone like him would work out.

He was stupid for thinking they would make a good team. He was stupid for ignoring the fact that it was too good to be true, too cliche college-kid bullshit and too convenient to be real. 

He was stupid for thinking he had been worth something to him.

When they got back to their apartment, San swimming in his sobs while trying his best to breathe, Yunho decided that he never wanted to see San cry like that ever again in his life. His own heart was very close to breaking when he would see San cover his face behind his hands, cheeks scarlet and eyes glassy as he slowly wobbled at the edge of his breaking point again.

It was hard, especially when he felt every injury San did.

And as San felt his world burn as the rain showers over the world like falling ash, poisoning his lungs and staining the fractures in his heart, he decided that maybe, he shouldn’t have let Wooyoung mold his heart into all of his imperfect ideals. He decided that maybe, he shouldn’t have let his emotions dictate his head, and let him fall for Wooyoung as hard as he did. He decided that maybe, things were always too good to be true in the end, and that he was a fool for believing in him after not believing in anything for so long

He decided that _maybe_ , it was better not to feel at all.


	18. broken hearts really do hurt, don't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!
> 
> WE ARE FINALLY DONE WRITING WOOOO
> 
> i changed the title bc i felt like it would fit with the story,,,, i mentioned marigolds only once in here HOWEVER!! if you guys think marigolds works better pls let me know!! i don't mind changing it back ^-^
> 
> if you are still here reading - thank you so very much!!! i really hope you guys like the rest of the au and that it ends just like how it should have for you!! i really appreciate all of your kind comments!!! they are so motivating and nice and encouraging and asishflksjhfsdufhs i just really appreciate it. i really enjoy writing so to hear nice things makes me go like <333333
> 
> i hope this isn't a tedious read, my last au was like 77k so i really tried not to go more than 50 with this one hhhhh
> 
> enjoy!! and thank you again for everything AH
> 
> p.s. this chapter is a little weirdly written i apologize the next ones are better i swear

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Yunho tossed his blue sweater in the wash after getting home, making a point to spend as much time with San as he needed today. He doesn’t think there was anything worse than seeing San fight against himself in trying to stay afloat, so he decided that he would be there to help him just in case it got to be too much.

Yunho’s voice still sounds like summer, though it felt entirely too dark throughout the entire apartment for it to really remind him of that. San feels a dread in his heart that floods his hollow bones and weighs down his desolate head, feeling sick again as he thinks of Wooyoung and what he must be doing now.

He thinks of what he said to his brother behind the wall, and the part about calling it off makes him want to throw up.

San watches Yunho’s eyebrows come together as he sinks into the couch beside him, his new, dry sweater pooling around his hands and swallowing him whole. It was very pink, reminding San of the seashells that sometimes washed up on the beach that he liked to admire. 

There were so many beautiful things on the shoreline. Maybe the beach would be nice.

He tightens his grip around his knees and feels tears well up in his eyes again, too stubborn to fall and he was too afraid to let them, knowing they would reveal just how weak he really was over Wooyoung and he knew Yunho would feel worse.

_ God,  _ he sucks.

San finally shakes his head, for his own sake and for Yunho’s, not wanting to speak any of his fears into light yet. His eyes wander to the blurred streetlamps peeking into the corner of their front window like fairy lights and he feels his heart churn once more as thunder softly gurgled over their heads.

“N-no. I’m...I’m really sorry, Yu…” 

Another wave of misery slowly surges over him as he thinks, his head in a block, and Yunho watches as he hides his face in his hands again, lowering his head onto his knees and feeling himself shake a bit at the pressure.

He felt so full of  _ pressure _ , trying to keep the rest of his pieces together. He could explode any minute now, coming seconds away from doing so many times within the few hours since.

He didn’t know he could hurt so bad like this.

Yunho throws his arms around San’s shoulders in reassurance, taking him out of his head for a moment with the faint aroma of black coffee and crisp rain that makes San reminisce about the music venue. 

San warms in Yunho’s sun, and though it was melting and dark and on the verge of eclipsing, he still felt better with him around.

“For what? We’re soulmates. Of course, I’m gonna be here to cheer you up. I know how you feel, remember? I’ll always be here for you.” Yunho hugs him tighter, and San shuts his eyes. “Even when you have nothing to say, I will always listen to you.” 

San doesn’t realize he’s crying again, doesn’t realize how hot his face must have gotten and how painful the knives in his back truly were, until Yunho pulls back to wipe the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs and San remembers just how destroyed his world had been in so little time.

It would take long to rebuild it. He was not looking forward to it, at all.

“Don’t cry, Sannie.” He says, a watery grin on his face as he tries to focus on helping San. “You’ll be okay. You have us!”

“I’m sorry,” San tells him, and his heart waterfalls as he remembers this morning and how everything seemed to fall apart under his fingers as he brought the outside storm right to Yunho.

His beautiful, makeshift utopia. How he wished he could rebuild it again, to love it while it lasted rather than mourn it when it was gone.

“What can I do for you? Do you want to be left alone?” Yunho asks, his voice sounding so far away as San hides his face in his hands, feeling so vulnerable and open and feeble and he hated this more than he expected to.

Being alone would be worse for him. He couldn’t be alone, especially not now.

“No…” San sniffles, and his vision becomes blurry for what felt like the millionth time tonight as he shakes his head. “No.”

Yunho breathes all of his confusion and sadness and exhaustion into the air, wishing he could help him feel better, but coming up short with every way he thought of. 

He was quiet, and whenever San was quiet, it screamed volumes more than when he wasn’t. It was distracting and scary and all Yunho could really think about was trying to get San to talk more.

For now, all he could do was listen to the soft cries that brimmed his ears and his heart and his blood, and try not to notice how fragile San felt as he tried to hide away in his arms, once his thoughts began to be too much and whatever was hurting him got very close to killing him.

San hated how hard it was to think of anything else.

“San, you know we love you, right?” Yunho asks, and he rests his cheek on his black hair again, his own eyes glossed and his heart felt like it was decorated in cracks, on the verge of shattering like thin glass right alongside San’s. “I don’t know what happened, but...I love you. And you can always count on us to help you feel better. We all love you.”

And San  _ did _ believe in that. 

He always put his trust into people, maybe sometimes for the wrong reasons, and when he wasn't sure he should, but he knew he was right for believing in Yunho. At least, with him, San wouldn’t have to worry about it being a lie, about it being just for show and about it being a _joke_.

He knew that for sure. And it didn’t really help, but he knew it was true.

He finally nods after a moment, his neck feeling stale from where he kept his face hidden for so long. Yunho’s words flicked holes in his brittle psyche and he suddenly wanted to get out of this apartment, to maybe run wild on stardust with his friends who believed in him, just as much as he put all of his faith into them.

“Yeah.” Is all he says, and Yunho pulls back from him just in case he wanted to say anything else. “I know.”

He smiles, and San heals.

Only a little.


	19. worth more than fifty bucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls beware theyre a little mean to wooyoung in the gc/a lot of profanity!! and there are many typos in san's texts but it's on purpose if u hate that then it is okay!! you don't have to read this chapter it's not necessary for the ending!! c:

**gigi:** _ hey guys _

**gigi:** _ uhm so wooyoung hasnt been picking up his phone _

**gigi:** _ and i have a project due next week w him for chem i literally have no idea what the fuck a pH is so like _

**gigi:** _ just thought that maybe u guys would know if hes okay??? san has he been w u???  _

**hongjoong:** _ why r we talking ab woooyoung  _

**hongjoong:** _ oh lord again?? a-fuckin-gain??? nothin new nothin changed same old shit. same old fuckin shit _

**gigi:** _ joong do u ever shut up _

**hwa:** _ YEAHHHH WOOYOUNG WE LOVE WOOYOUNG!!!  _

**yeosangie:** _ uhhh _

**yeosangie:** _ well uhhh _

**yu:** _ wooyoung and san are kinda broken up a little bit kinda :/ _

**hwa:** _ ,,,,, oh _

**hwa:** _ oh no _

**hwa:** _ is san okay??? _

**hongjoong:** _ ahhh shit _

**hongjoong:** _ i hope sans doing okay _

**hongjoong:** _ where is he??? can i come over?? does he wanna be alone??? _

**hwa:** _ wait wdym kinda broken up yu??? _

**jongho:** _ i fucking knew this would happen _

**yeosangie:** _ for now all we can do is help him!! i say we all go out for milkshakes 2nite as a family (◡‿◡✿) _

**yu:** _ MILKSHAKE PARTY!! ＼（＾○＾）人（＾○＾）／ _

**gigi:** _ aw what _

**gigi:** _ mannnnn i didnt know :((( _

**gigi:** _ wtf happened????? _

**gigi:** _ and is he home?? i wanna see if hes okay _

**yu:** _ yes hes home! just been real sad lately :((( _

**yu:** _ he didnt tell us exactly what happened just that he and woo are like,,,,, not talking for now??? i guess _

**yu:** _ but imma let san explain it more if he comes into the gc :|| _

**yeosangie:** _ wooyoung is fucking trash i s2g _

**jongho:** _ i should break the wall down and steal his tv _

**hongjoong:** _ JONGHO NO— _

**gigi:** _ WAIT WHAT HAPPENED _

**yeosangie:** _ eat the rich eat the rich _

**hwa:** _ wait if gi and joong are coming over i am too >:| _

**_hello guys!!!_ **

**_i am okay!!_ **

**_do not worry_ **

**_everythings all good!_ **

**_im all good!_ **

**_u dont have to come over!!! im okay!!!!_ **

**yeosangie:** _ the number of exclamations in ur texts say otherwise _

**yu:** _ hey dont lie _

**hwa:** _ too bad! im already out the door _

**gigi:** _ sorry san but up until this point i suddenly do not understand what u are saying to me so im gonna come over _

**hongjoong:** _ sounds 2 me like we all gotta go see san at this point _

**_,,,,,_ **

**_it hurts_ **

**_a lot_ **

**_i feel so_ **

**_so terrible_ **

**_i didnt expect it_ **

**_to end like that_ **

**_but_ **

**_im okay_ **

**_people breakup all fhe tjmee rightt_ **

**_were weeven dsting???_ **

**_can hou even call ghat a relationships???_ **

**_sorry my tears are messing up the keybaord jkggsk_ **

**jongho:** _ literally. what the hell happened _

**yu:** _ yeah u guys were fine like yesterday morning _

**hongjoong:** _ :((( _

**yeosangie:** _ but only if u wanna talk about it! _

**_idk just_ **

**_it was like_ **

**_i left my calculator on my bed and i we t back and headd him talkingto his brother tryiig to call it off_ **

**_the whole thing was a setup_ **

**_i was the butt of a fucking joke_ **

**_it was a bet between them_ **

**_everything we did was for a bet_ **

**_to see if he could make me feel pain_ **

**_for fifty dollars_ **

**_i cant believe i let myself get played liek thag_ **

**_im so fuckignstupjd_ **

**yu:** _ are you serious?? _

**jongho:** _ ok im gonna go beat his ass _

**jongho:** _ didnt i call it??? i KNEW he was garbage from the get go _

**jongho:** _ A BET _

**hwa:** _ ,,,, he really is trash _

**jongho:** _ WHAT THE FUCK _

**_wait dont be mean to him :(((_ **

**gigi:** _ whoa whoa wait _

**gigi:** _ i dont understand  _

**jongho:** _ and FUCK his stupid brother for going along with it _

**yeosangie:** _ YEAH FUCK THE JUNGS!!!! _

**gigi:** _ he would talk about san every time i would hang out with him recently _

**gigi:** _ but it was always really nice things too and it seemed like he honestly truly liked you a lot _

**gigi:** _ so i just dont understand how he would even think of doing something like that and keep the facade _

**gigi:** _ and then not even call it off??? wtf _

**jongho:** _ san dont defend him hes trash!! _

**_i KNOW but like_ **

**_:((((_ **

**_and yes he did_ **

**_he was in the middle of calling it off_ **

**_i heard him through the walls_ **

**_and he was calling it off because he didnt want me to get hurt_ **

**_said he couldnt do it to me_ **

**_but like_ **

**_i heard it_ **

**_and it still hurt_ **

**_but even worse because he didnt tell me to my face_ **

**_i had to hear it throught eh fuckingwalls_ **

**yeosangie:** _ tbh i didnt think hed be so low like that _

**yeosangie:** _ he was starting to seem kinda cool too :((( _

**hongjoong:** _ god well this fuckin blows  _

**yu:** _ im not gonna say sorry because sorries never help but i will say that i love u a lot and will be home very soon with cookies 4 u from work <333 _

**yu:** _ me and yeo know how you’re feeling right now we r ur soulmates!! and mingi and joong and hwa and jongho are gonna be here for you!! youre not alone and we love u _

**yu:** _ and we could watch naruto while we wait for the others to come home if you're up to it \\(^-^)/ _

**_thanks yu_ **

**_looking forward to it_ **

**_and thank you joong and hwa and mingi for coming over_ **

**_also looking forward to it_ **

**_and thank u jongho and yeosang for helping me sleep recently_ **

**_i love u guys :((((_ **

**_im sorry for being a downer_ **

**yeosangie:** _ r u kidding u are LITERALLY going thru a breakup rn ur supposed to be sad _

**yeosangie:** _ don’t apologize!!  _

**hwa:** _ ofc angel _

**hwa:** _ itll be a little while bc traffic is terrible rn but im coming!! <33 _

**hwa:** _ AND DONT SAY SORRY AGAIN OR ELSE >:| _

**yu:** _ DONT TEXT AND DRIVE HWA _

**gigi:** _ anything 4 u <33 _

**gigi:** _ im gonna go grab joong first and see u then  _

**hwa:** _ its okay i am literally parked on the highway. traffic is so bad look _

**hwa:** _ [view image] _

**jongho:** _ ah san :((( _

**yeosangie:** _jfc u would be better off walking the traffic in this city is,,,,,_

**jongho:** _ lets go out tomorrow and buy new colors for the galaxy projector!! _

**_okay!_ **

**hongjoong:** _ WAIT WAIT _

**hongjoong:** _ mingi are u saying that wooyoung was really in love w san for REAL _

**hongjoong:** _ was that not an implication _

**yu:** _ oh yeah _

**hwa:** _ idk man that kiss didnt look fake to me :/ _

**gigi:** _ YES it was an implication!! _

**hwa:** _ I THINK that he maybe was catching feelings in the middle of the bet but couldnt tell san the truth because he knew he would get hurt in the process _

**gigi:** _ yeah i honestly think so too _

**gigi:** _ and as fucked up as it is, i feel like he made the bet and then began to regret it when he saw he really liked you for you and not for that dumbass fifty bucks _

**jongho:** _ ok but regardless making up a bet at someone elses expense is fucked no matter which way you spin it _

**jongho:** _ like did he ever consider how san would feel at the end of if?????? but anything for fifty bucks right _

**jongho:** _ i knew something would happen _

**jongho:** _ i hate that guy fuck wooyoung _

**_jongho :(((_ **

**gigi:** _ i just _

**gigi:** _ and he was in the middle of calling it off! so that means exactly what i said he really liked u but just got into it in a way he shouldnt have _

**gigi:** _ not trying to defend him for the bet but u guys seemed really happy together :(((( _

**gigi:** _ maybe u should talk to him??? did he try talking to you?? _

**_he talked to me through the walls yesterday_ **

**_its really hard to ignore_ **

**_his voice sounds so sad_ **

**_like just_ **

**_he sounds very sad_ **

**_i feel terrible for him_ **

**_even worse now because i think u may be right and i should have answered_ **

**_i needed to think!! i still dont really know what to think about this is such a weird situation_ **

**hwa:** _ u cant feel bad for him san u just cant _

**hwa:** _ not right now at least _

**yu:** _ idk i really thought hed be nice and change my expectations _

**yu:** _ BUTTTT mingi might have a point,,,, so maybe hes okay but only maybe _

**yeosangie:** _ i told u he was in love with u _

**yeosangie:** _ too bad he had to FUCK IT ALL UP!!! _

**gigi:** _ he definitely cares about u san _

**gigi:** _ hes just really really dumb for that _

**hongjoong:** _ well mayhaps mingi is right  _

**hongjoong:** _ and _

**hongjoong:** _ u not talking to him might make things worse _

**hwa:** _ you should definitely talk to him at some point _

**_idk if i should_ **

**_im scared_ **

**_what if i cry_ **

**_what if he laughs at me and tells me it was all part of another bet_ **

**_he got wtf he wanted!_ **

**_i felt the worst fucking pain in my life_ **

**hwa:** _ talk to him babe _

**jongho:** _ as much as i HATE WOOYOUNG right now maybe its a good idea _

**jongho:** _ only maybe  _

**yu:** _ would you like us to come with you?? _

**yeosangie:** _ lets go on standby _

**jongho:** _ yeah we’ll be right near the wall so that way if he hurts u again we could break the wall down and steal his money! _

**hwa:** _ JONGHO— _

**_i think_ **

**_i’ll do it alone_ **

**_but not today_ **

**_not tomorrow_ **

**_idk when_ **

**_im scared_ **

**yu:** _ uhhh san hate to change the subject but _

**yu:** _ just got home,,,, ummm _

**yu:** _ there are yellow flowers at the door?????? _

**_what_ **

**_are u joking yunho_ **

**jongho:** _??? _

**yeosangie:** _ WHAT _

**yu:** _ for u it says _

**yu:** _ no not joking _

**yu:** _ theres a note and some yellow flowers i will bring them to you _

**gigi:** _ um _

**hwa:** _ yellow flowers?? does that mean anything?? _

**yu:** _ oh _

**yu:** _ ,,,, theyre from wooyoung _

(And as Yunho unlocks the door to their apartment, San cries on the couch for the third time that afternoon.)


	20. no-pain-points

Being in love felt like fire.

It was the blazing heat of burning leaves once the first spark of ruin pillowed itself to the forest floor, quick and passionate and ferocious on its path for validation. It swallowed everything as quickly as it lit, and destroyed even once it was put out. It was dangerous and tireless the more it finds fuel to burn on, open hearts like gasoline and precious secrets like oxygen. It was so risky to love as it was to strike matchsticks in straw houses or walk barefoot on red coals.

But it also created the most wonderful warmth that you could ever imagine.

Only if you let it.

It caused goosebumps to litter your skin like poppy fields at the thought, caused your heart to soar while gravity still kept you tethered to the ground, and made you dream back to coloring outside the lines on Friday afternoons, or playing in the sandbox. 

Being in love blurred the lines between risk and desire, as tealight candles twirled and forest fires ravaged.

Then you finally get burned. 

Choi San has been on fire lately.

He was suffocating in the ashy memories of him, radiant and dancing against the dark with the desire to see him again, to touch him and let him warm his skin and set fireworks off in his chest, like he usually did.

But San was wrecked and ravished and charred as memories fueled his fires, has been burning for the past few days and he doesn’t think he will ever get used to the heat.

And as he stares at the yellow flowers beside his cactus this morning, sat in a pretty glass vase and taking up the entire room in the way their petals eavesdropped on his thoughts and spilled all of his secrets back into the walls for Wooyoung to think about, he misses the way his bed felt when it was glowing with electric currents under a day as dark as this.

He will never get used to it.

...

Jung Wooyoung was not doing too well.

It was one thing to have your heart broken, but something considerably different to have your heart broken over something like a bet with your stupid older brother.

He tried to talk to San through the walls yesterday, going over to his apartment after not getting a response and making it as far as the front door before Yeosang told him to leave. But instead of going back to his own apartment, he felt like running.

He didn’t really know where. Just wanted to run.

The metro did not take him as far as Canada as he’d hoped, but he got off three cities away and found the prettiest yellow flowers in the window of a florist's shop that reminded him of summer and the splashes of color San sometimes left on the roof, where he smiled the widest and laughed the loudest with him and it felt like the world really was as big as it seemed.

The roof, however, was just as empty as he imagined it would be without San there.

And it hurt - he was _hurting_ \- but he knew he didn’t get to feel bad for himself.

He didn’t get to feel bad for himself when he knew that this was an unreliable plan from the beginning. He didn’t get to feel bad for himself when he knew San was probably doing worse, knowing he had been the butt of what was meant to be a short-lived bet that tumbled into something that meant a lot more to him than it was supposed to. 

And today, as his apartment is silent with the ghosts of their favorite place to talk under his bedsheets while the stars listened to their conversations, to watch movies and paint the walls and fall in love, Wooyoung knew he needed to get out of here again.

It was too much, and he was very close to spilling over the top again, for the nth time in what seemed like millennia since talking to San. His eyes were raw and caustic from crying so fucking much in so little time. 

He couldn’t stand to be alone.

Maybe he should try again. 

He hadn't heard any noise coming from his bedroom, besides the ruffle of sheets and the gentle crack of his bed this morning. This was a good time.

All he had to do was leave his apartment and try again.

And while he slides on his shoes by the front door, beat-up converse feeling dull and his black clothes feeling itchy, he notices for the first time today that the rain still hasn’t let up in the past few days, not since he’s last seen San.

Somehow, he still appreciates how the universe worked around him.

As if sharing his pain, and his guilt and exhaustion and yearning and ache, the world was storming, releasing shattering thunders and angry bouts of showers over their apartments as grey clouds gripped the sky today, nearly black if he stared too long.

Wooyoung grabs the doorknob, the dark brass freezing under his hot palm, trying to will himself to go talk to San again, to see him again, to try and fix things and make them be _okay_ again. He wanted to go back to dreaming with him on the roof, wanted to go back to wondering about him while looking over his scars, wanted to go back to their little universe beneath his bedsheets.

He wanted to go back to San.

He usually would go up to the roof these days, spending countless hours there and letting his thoughts dangle from his fingertips for the wind to pick up and carry out to sea for him to forget about one day, wanting desperately to just _forget_ about San and everything they’ve explored, whether it be within each other or what their small town had to offer to them after sunset. Only for a little while, to take the edge off.

He hated how abandoned it felt without him, but he still appreciated the change of scenery now and then.

And with a final sigh, Wooyoung pushes his spirit to get out of his apartment, steps out into the rain, and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it in case he needs to come back quickly.

He never liked being shut out, no matter what it was.

His black hair is immediately doused in rain, feeling like shards of jagged glass over his skin as an icy prick skated over his hot skin. Goosebumps dust his spine as he tries to get used to it, clenching his fists together and wanting so badly to go back inside, deeming this a mistake as soon as the cold rain hits him. 

But he stays for a little, relishing in the slight discomfort he was feeling because he felt like he deserved to be uncomfortable. 

For once.

He deserved to be uncomfortable when he thought the bet would be easy, that it would work out and he would get fifty bucks to spend on bullshit. And maybe he deserved to be uncomfortable for being so okay with going through with it from the beginning.

He was so okay with ruining San’s heart from the beginning. He deserved to be more than uncomfortable.

In a final wave of thunder, he lets his legs carry him next door, right up to San’s door and practically tasting the thick tension that he’s created between the thin walls. The sky is so, so dark as if the only light in the world was flickering and very close to going out forever.

He would have believed it.

As he watches the murky rain curtain over their apartments and snake over his feet across the walkway, flooding over the flower pots set back at his front door, he tries to find his thoughts in the way they were still just as bright and beautiful as if it were sunny today. They belonged pressed against the sun, sat in the grass, or perched in black hair.

He wanted to crush them under his feet so badly.

Wooyoung did not know what to expect when he showed up at San’s door this afternoon.

He didn’t know what to expect, if San would let him in, or if he didn’t. He didn’t know what to expect from San at all recently, had he tried.

He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t knock.

He thinks that this might not be the best idea for now.

He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t do it.

So he doesn’t.

And if you told him that he’d make a beeline to the stairwell leading to the roof, rather than stay at San’s apartment door and just _knock_ , he would have laughed at you for assuming he’d be that much of a coward.

~❁~

The rain was not as pretty to listen to today.

Normally, San would look forward to it. 

He would look forward to blending with the rain as it lightly sighs over his window, watching it bleed down the glass like liquid mercury against the stony sky. He would look forward to falling asleep in the safety of his room as the rain melts over his roof and over the city, encasing him in a protective embrace that reminded him of his mom.

She would always protect him from the rain, always being there to shield him in her arms when the thunder was too loud for him to ignore and the world felt like it was crashing down all at once.

Recently, San would look forward to spending a day like this with Wooyoung. 

Instead, he was alone and abandoned and missing him while the rain made up the empty spaces in his chest instead.

San resisted the urge to cry again, feeling devoid and worn out, as if he had nothing left to contribute to the rain’s impending storm today.

He does need to shower. It was too hard to get out of bed at the moment.

Despite feeling like nothing, he felt like he had the thoughts of everyone in the world swirling around his head and weighing him down with his worst nightmares.

And it really did feel like a nightmare, as he laid in his bed and imagined the brightest constellations in his ceiling that he remembered from all the Google images he’d look up sometimes, like the stars were falling out of the sky one by one and he was clinging on to the last bit of hope above him. It felt like he was so very close to waking up, on the verge of opening his eyes and stuffing this in the back of his head as a hazy, shitty memory.

San sighs and shuts his eyes again, stinging and raw from yesterday.

He needed to _shower_. 

San wills himself out from the protection of his bedsheets, really trying not to make a lot of noise because it felt like Wooyoung would remember that he lived beside him if he did, and he wanted to stay as invisible as possible to save himself from getting hurt again. And despite every day tearing away at him, the least he could do for himself was protect the rest of his heart while he still had a few pieces left.

It was the least he could do.

San makes his way into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him like he usually does. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror again today, knowing he probably looked terrible, but didn’t want to bring it to his own attention.

What was even going on? It’s been three days. And San knew Wooyoung would talk to him again when he was up to it and he was scared to hear his voice because he hated crying over him.

He feels pressure at the back of his nose and his eyes water again as he turns the shower on, the sound of rushing water almost distracting him for a moment. Almost.

It takes a lot to get his clothes off and get in, his bones feeling like heavy driftwood, but he manages to do it without making much noise.

He just hoped Wooyoung was doing okay.

Despite really, _really_ hating him right now, and wanting to punch him and scream at him and tell him how much of an idiot he was for doing that to him, he hoped he was doing okay. He wanted to go over and ask, not because San actually cared for an answer, but because he wanted to hear him again.

He wanted to fix it, yet there was nothing to fix.

He got what he wanted. The bet is over. 

So were they.

San finds it terribly troubling how, in his entire life, the only real pain he’s felt came from getting his heart broken like this. Out of the past relationships he’s had, nothing was as strong as this one. 

Droughts made up his chest in the morning, lightly drenched with his rainstorms throughout the day, and drying up again when he woke up the next. And he wanted more than anything to talk to him, to hear him and love him again, but he couldn’t find it within himself to do it. He despised how bad this was, how he could feel nothing but this terror sucking everything out of him and he couldn’t even distract himself from it. His roommates really tried, but everything had come back to Wooyoung the more they took him out, distracted him and helped him feel better, as if it was all for nothing.

San stares at the dial as the water floods through his hair and down the drain, blurring his vision until he blinked it out, trying to collect his thoughts before they also slid away from him and into the pipes.

He thinks that maybe _this_ was the breaking point. Maybe his tolerance had been filled now, pushing to flood past the brim, and he could finally feel pain again.

This had to be it.

Without thinking more about it, he turns the dial to its hottest, feeling the tension in the handle that told him he couldn’t pull it further. He doesn’t know how long to wait for the water to change, but he shuts his eyes and raises his head for the stream to spill over his face, hoping to feel the gradual heat in the water over his cheeks as steam clogs his lungs.

Hoping, imagining, wishing.

“Come on, come _on.”_

All he needed was the first blush of warmth on his skin. All he needed was the slightest indicator that he would be okay, that the pain is worth it in order to feel _anything else._

There has to be something that felt worse than this.

Through clenched teeth, he tries to push the dial again, feeling goosebumps run down his arms as his palms soften into a bridled cherry blossom color. He was so close, he knew he would feel it if he just focused.

Just focus.

San imagines his chest opening and spilling his heartbreak into his blood, to pool in his toes and course wildly underneath his skin. 

Maybe that’s what a boiling shower would feel like.

The water was quickly leaving another waxy cloud of steam around him as it bounced off of the ground and surrounded him in a comforting ruse _,_ his chest aching as the water ran down his face and washed away the sticky tears from his cheeks from last night. 

There is still nothing, just the sensation of the shower hitting his body, like this was normal, except rose petals were blooming under his skin and it made him look like art again.

But it was ugly today.

He’s wished so many times to feel pain, just to know what it felt like. He wanted to be like his friends, and complain about the pain just as they did when their soulmate got into trouble. He wanted to be able to recall memories of falling off the slide and breaking his arm during recess as a kid, to be able to remember how that pain felt when it was all said and done and laugh with his friends about never doing something dumb like that again. 

And he knew it was fucked up, but that’s all he wished for.

Now, as he was pining to feel a different ache in the middle of his stupid shower, he realizes the only thing he really could feel was something that he would never wish for. This hurting that resided deep in his chest — that spread torment throughout his entire body and made its way through his bloodstream like a parasite — he would never wish it on his worst enemy.

But at least San got what he wanted, too, in the end. How weird for it to work out like that.

The universe was so awfully bittersweet.

“San? Sannie? Are you okay?”

San comes back, realizes that he lived with other people who worried about him more than he worried about himself. 

“I feel the steam from the hall, can you make it cooler?”

San is brought out from his haze when he hears Jongho’s voice again, muffled like dim lights, yet stark with concern all the same. And normally, he would put up a fight, argue with _I can’t feel it anyway, who cares?_

Which in turn would make Jongho huff and threaten to come inside his shower to turn it down himself.

But after thinking it over, calculating exactly how much effort it would take to put up a fight, he doesn’t. Without any hesitation, he slowly turns the dial back over to where the handle was set towards the blue, probably at its coldest before he can shut the shower off completely. 

A roll of thunder belches over the sky and San feels his chest cave in at the sound.

And once reality sets in that he could have really been screwed had Jongho not been there to distract him, he can’t help but feel worse.

He’s _got_ to pull it together.

“San? I have to leave for work, but I came to check on you. Can you hear me? Did you turn down the shower?”

Jongho was still waiting for a response from him where he stood at the frame, as if the door was closed, and San could practically see his worry, his soft eyes starry and his cheeks softly flushed in stress as he stared at the tiled floor while the steam cools over him.

“Y-yeah.” His voice comes out like steel wool when he speaks, raising his voice a little. “Yeah, sorry.” 

He swallows and his throat is dry, running his hands over his face and trying to calm down as the steam clears from around him in the shower and thunder breaks over their apartment once more. He breathes in a moment of tainted clarity, before grabbing his soap from the rack to take a real shower. 

He tries to wash away Wooyoung again today. 

It didn’t work, remnants of his touches and silky black hair that looked like a minute past midnight still in his head and poisoning his bloodstream as he watched the soap suds slip past the drain.

He gets back into bed after getting dressed, Jongho gone for work and leaving him to the apartment by himself, leaving him with the task of trying not to think too much about the flowers that were probably wilting under the heavy boots of rain in front of Wooyoung’s apartment, or the many stars that had left the sky and sat sprinkled behind Wooyoung’s eyes instead.

San didn’t know what to do. 

His blood felt stale, his skin tight and his bones old, and it was tenfold when thinking of getting out of bed again today. 

But what else would he do?

If he sleeps now, he’d miss the sunset that he loved to watch past his window, and if he stayed awake in his room, he would be reminded of Wooyoung in the white paint of his walls.

So he decides to go out to the roof, even in the rain.

He hasn’t had a chance to stand out in the rain lately, like he used to do as a kid. There was something about being free in the way of what people would consider an obstacle that made San feel invincible. He remembers stomping in the puddles when the sky was clear, when the thunder turned to bird calls and the lightning had softened into the gentle crepuscular rays peeking from the blue clouds past the horizon.

Maybe going outside in the rain, even after his shower, would help build a second skin, maybe one that didn’t feel so tight and one that felt like his own. Maybe standing out in the rain would help heal his heart and bring the sun out in him to grow his wilted yellow flowers again while he healed from the inferno he’d been trapped in.

Maybe the rain would help.

San rushes out of the apartment before he has a second chance to think, blocking his brain and leaving his worries underneath his mattress to come back to later. He would be okay today, even if only for a little while.

He would be okay today, even without Wooyoung.


	21. steady when you find him

Wooyoung did not know how bad longing felt, especially when who you were missing was so close to you.

In that time where he hadn’t seen San in two weeks after needing to heal from the railing, he remembers feeling scattered, like his thoughts were in San’s apartment and also on the roof and stuck in the cobwebs in the corner of the dark stairwell that San hated so much.  He felt a bit lost, and a bit restless and the nights went by quicker than what he was used to.

And seeing him again, after those two lifetimes, made butterflies flutter and peonies blossom and it felt like finding treasure again, finding himself again and falling in love again.

It’s only been a few days, but he was in pain and it was relentless, like walking on broken bones or picking healing scabs. 

Disgusting, terrible, tireless longing.

And he knew exactly why. Soulmates were never supposed to be apart like this.

Today was the first time he has ever cried over Choi San on the roof.

He watches the rain let up, only a little bit, turning the sidewalk below him into silver as mirror puddles streamed down the street and reflected his favorite memories of playing in them. 

He thinks of the sandbox again.

And when nothing else occupies his headspace except for San and blank slates, he lies down on the ledge where he’s watched San think and be so patient with him, even in their times of first going out. 

It was tragicomic, that San wanted nothing to do with him back then, just the same as now.

Wooyoung shuts his eyes and lets the water press wet kisses over his sticky skin, letting the remnants of the storm thread its fingers through his black hair and lashes as he tries his best to float off towards the sun, if he could find it. It was so dark outside, and while Wooyoung lightly sways with the wind as it carries over his clothes and sends a chill through him, his black shirt soaking up the small puddles that formed underneath his back on the ledge, he thinks this is nice.

He always thought the rain was nice.

There was something sadly sweet about it, how most people associate it with grief and power outages, while it reminded others of blooming gardens and the yellow bands in rainbows. 

Yellow. What a stupid color.

Wooyoung breathes in slowly, feeling a few raindrops slip past his lips and cool over his tongue as he lets it out, and takes one more as his eyelids shake and his heart trembles in his chest once yellow was all he could think about. All he needed to do was go talk to San. There was nothing hard about it, yet, it was the most difficult task he’s ever had to do.

The roof door opens, kicking him out of his head, and Wooyoung sits up quickly, not wanting whoever has come up here to think he was lying dead in the rain. 

And he thinks that it was next to impossible to talk to San now, as he stares at him on the roof, and he is the one that is trapped in flypaper this time.

His heart sinks in the pit of his stomach once he’s met with flickering eyes that remind him of street lamps and lips that housed the most beautiful colors he could think of.  As if on cue, the rain picks up again, applauding around them like spilled glass marbles and causing another chill to branch through his bones, encouraging him to move, to speak, to  _ breathe. _

“...San?”

San swallows, and he blinks as if he’d been entranced, probably with how terrible Wooyoung looked and not being used to seeing someone so damaged.

Wooyoung ignores the slices to his skin from the rain and swings his legs over the ledge, keeping his eyes on San and studying him, as if he needed to create more memories of him before he’d forget altogether.  San was visibly upset, Wooyoung noticing his eyebrows quirk as the rain streamed over his button nose and darkened the red sweater he was wearing, the one that went past his hands and made Wooyoung smile and wish upon stars for the future. San steps back once he gets closer to him, indecisive as he balances on whether he should leave, or listen.

And his heart was screaming for him to go, trying to get his legs to follow suit and carry him back to bed, to go rebuild his walls again and make sure they would keep Wooyoung out for a little while longer. But there was something about the way he hung his head, made him look wrung out like a wet towel, as if San had been the reason and he needed to repair him.

San knew he was, but at the same time, he knew he shouldn’t feel this bad. His heart is a racing Supersport in his chest as Wooyoung sighs, not knowing what to do or how to do it, and he runs a hand through his slick hair as the rain smooths over them.

San remembers their first date. The first really _real_ one, when Wooyoung ran his fingers through his hair and San thought he was more dangerous than he appeared to be.  He still kept that thought, as he tried desperately to protect his heart from him.

“I’m sorry.” Wooyoung blinks a lot, telling San he was thinking too fast for his mouth to really catch up and he had a lot to say, but it was hard to get it out. 

San swallows while Wooyoung’s eyes land on his own, and San sees the cloudiness that replaced normally warm brown eyes, and the prettiest glints behind them that he loved to peer into were gone.

Wooyoung was hurting.

“Coming into this,  _ us _ ...it was just a bet. It wasn’t supposed to be anything else.” Wooyoung says, and his eyebrows pinch at that last bit before worrying in the middle of his forehead and San cannot tell if it’s the rain that drips off of his chin. “I wasn’t supposed to…”

San shuts his eyes and looks at the ground, shaking his head and swallowing the lump in his throat. He needed water. He needed sleep. He needed to cry. 

He needed to go.

“I don’t want to see you,” San tells him, and it tastes like acid as it burns his tongue and dissolves the remainder of his heart.

He didn’t mean it, not really. There was a small part of him that wanted to mean it, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

He was so annoyed.

“San, please?”

San honestly didn’t want to listen for the one reason of knowing he would crash. He knew that, the longer he stayed out here with him, the faster he would fall, and the harder he would shatter on the all too hard ground. Wooyoung was so deadly in a way that kept him above the world for so long, he forgot how to fall, but he was plunging and he didn’t know how to land.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

“I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I tried to get out of it. I tried. I didn’t want to hurt you—”

“You fucking did!” 

San shouts, and it makes the birds fly away from their homes and rocks the ground and cracks the Northern Hemisphere in two. He couldn’t care yet. He needed to scream at him. “You got what you wanted.”

“I  _ didn’t _ ,” Wooyoung tells him, and his voice gives out from what he was trying to hold back and felt choked up as the rain splashes cadences around them, the tip of his nose pink and he looks so fragile and San feels like if he blinked, Wooyoung would disappear. 

He keeps going.

“I fucking hate you. You knew what the hell you were doing to me and you still kept going!” San hides his mouth behind his hands, teeth clenched as his lips curl into a frown, and Wooyoung thinks he’s terrible for making San cry like this on one of the rainiest days this town has ever seen. 

“San—”

“I…” San wants to yell more, feeling like a supernova in that time of him releasing his humiliation into Wooyoung. He wanted to tell him how dark the world has been, wanted to tell him how stupid he was, wanted to tell him how much he loved him.

San wipes the tears and the rain from his face in vain, hoping Wooyoung didn’t take him for being weak, but as someone who was angry at him. 

He wanted to hate him. Why was it so hard to do so?

Wooyoung’s heart is heavy as it sits in his chest, but he’s made it this far. He would rather San bruise him and scream at him and burn him, than have him disappear into his apartment and leave him again for another day. He knew he was about to when he turned around and reached for the door handle, but Wooyoung was known to be a little selfish. He wouldn’t let him.

So he tells him.

“You’re my soulmate, San. I know you’ve figured it out already.”

San feels like he’s run into a brick wall, like he broke his entire body with the force of it and he can’t move, trapped once again as Wooyoung bores holes into his skin from behind him. He swallows, trying to think into the metal of the door, hoping that he was wrong and just saying things to get him to stay out here.

He just couldn’t think about that again.

“Don’t...don’t say stuff like that.  _ Please,”  _ San shuts his eyes and hopes for the worst, “don’t lie.”

It was so hard to talk. The rain amplified everything at its highest point and he was too overwhelmed.

“I’m serious. I’m  _ serious.” _ He says, as if confirming it for himself. “I have that same scar on my stomach. Like yours. I fell on a railing, and it showed up on you, too. And...my elbow, after I fell off my skateboard. It bled, worse than any scrape I’ve ever gotten. You  _ had _ to have thought about it, at least once.”

San is feeling distraught but also hopeful and upset and on top of the world. He’s been thinking that, maybe, the reason he was so torn up was because he really needed Wooyoung. And if he was right — which seemed like a very good possibility — it would completely throw him off.

He cannot tell if this is what he wanted.

“Why do you think it’s been so bad for us? I feel like..the fucking  _ world _ is ending, knowing I ruined us. We’re supposed to be together, San.”

To hear him say that made the sky crack apart, and the rest of the rain in the world to fall onto his shoulders, with the intent to drown them and bury them at the bottom of the city. To hear him say that felt like a bad dream, like San should wake up any moment beside Wooyoung and touch him to make sure he was still there and still in love with him.

And he was. He doesn’t think he would ever stop.

Despite San trying to shut him out, everything felt the same as it usually does underneath, when they were out on the roof like this.

“ _ Please _ , San.” San doesn’t really notice that Wooyoung’s gotten closer to him until he takes his hand, rough and wet from the rain like leather. He wants to pull back, but the dwindling electricity in his fingertips kept him grounded. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was stupid. But I fell in love with you and can’t stand to lose you over this stupid mistake. I am sorry.” 

San is quiet while Wooyoung cries and bleeds black ink into the puddles beneath their feet, eyes dark as they skate over his cheeks and his lips and everything else Wooyoung loved to look at before he'd forget.

“I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me. I don’t blame you for hating me. This could be the last time we even... _ speak _ but I need you to know that I am sorry and you changed my life. I need you to know that I’m in love with—”

San would never do this, had he been thinking.

The sun had taken itself into his lips as he kisses Wooyoung on the roof today, while the rain swept away lonely days and the harsh crimson of heartbreak under the cold clouds. Wooyoung is lost, feeling everything he’s been missing — everything he’s been so desperate for — come rushing back to him as San grips his shirt in his hands and kisses him like he would disappear forever if he didn’t.

The rain lets up once more, as Wooyoung holds San in his arms and leans into him, his heart beginning to beat again from where it felt dormant in his chest and setting off more fireworks that he’d almost forgotten about. Wooyoung leans into him, San curving against his body as his fingers search and his lips are foreign and his skin is needy under his touches.

He kisses him once, then again, and another and another, perilously and self-absorbed, and they bloom while soaking in each other’s losses and painting their damaged walls white.

Starting over. There was nothing wrong with starting over.

San pulls back slightly once his lungs ache, resting his forehead on Wooyoung’s while he tries to follow San’s lips to kiss him again. San can't help the twitch of a smile on his face, the first one in three days, while a tear trails down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away this time, too much of his spaces being filled up by the way Wooyoung felt pressed against him, the way his soft breaths against his lips rustled autumn leaves and the way he held him like he was porcelain.

“I was so fucking _mad_ at you, Woo,” San tells him, and he brings his hands up to his favorite place to touch Wooyoung as  _ I know  _ and  _ I’m sorry  _ spill from his tongue, and he pulls away to look at him, his eyes tired and heavy. “But I’m sorry, too.”

Wooyoung's eyes search his own, trying to find a reason to understand. 

There was none.

“For what?”

“For not talking to you, either. I heard you talking to your brother about calling it off. But I was mad at you. And I wanted to hate you but I couldn’t. I wanted to find a reason to shut you out. It was hard.” San shakes his head, and as he looks over Wooyoung’s face, he feels like this was just a regular day for them, accidentally getting caught in the rain on their favorite place to hang out together. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I do not accept your apology,” Wooyoung says, and San huffs with a shake of his head, feeling the airiness of what they've been used to. 

“Woo, you’re killing me.” He opts for resting his head on his chest and listening to his heart, wanting to go back into his bed and fall asleep to the tune of his tranquility.

Wooyoung kisses the top of his head, loving the feeling of holding him while the rain simmers to a light drizzle and the sun is relieved behind the clouds.  As if the universe was theirs to keep, the sun finally comes out and lets sparse glitter dance in the puddles beside his feet for the first time in a few days.

The flowers in front of his door grow.

And while a hushed light falls over them and surrounds them in the protection of exactly what makes the world feel alive, as Wooyoung kisses him again and has him chasing the flames in his lips, San is once again buzzing with soft currents on the roof.

He couldn’t get any brighter.


	22. baby boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this scene looks familiar just pretend u do not see
> 
> enjoy last chapter woo!!

It’s a Sunday morning in December.

Christmas had been right around the corner, and despite San not really one to celebrate this particular holiday, there was something about his roommates eagerly wanting to decorate that made him look forward to it anyway. San always found a special love for the world during winter, when light snow would tickle his nose sometimes and the taste of peppermint hot chocolate would remind him of his mother.

Even now, as he is watching Wooyoung scoop snowballs into his black-gloved hands, he feels his special love simmer in his chest and he’s reminded of the warm pool of peppermint and thinks Wooyoung belonged among stars and seashells and the roses in his mother’s garden and everything else that had to do with home.

“You gotta be quicker than that!” San shouts, trying his best to throw his own snowball at him through the many jackets Yunho and Yeosang had insisted on him wear outside, despite arguing that he looked like a dweeb and Wooyoung wouldn’t ever take him seriously for this dumb snowball fight.

He misses, of course, and Wooyoung laughs, throwing his own snowball that explodes off of San’s chest and sprinkles bits of ice onto his chin.

“Don’t need to be quick when you’ve got terrible aim!”

“I’m gonna make you regret that!"

San balls up more snow from near his feet, wanting to get revenge on Wooyoung and his snowballs, before he hears him again, but this time his voice was soft and he was a bit closer than where San last saw him.

His heart picks up in anticipation as he prepares for another blast of ice to prickle his face again.

“San, wait. You’ve got ice on you. You have to wipe it off before you get frostbite.”

San looks up, a little confused, but glancing at the light cherry red that saturated his cheeks and the tip of Wooyoung’s pretty shaped nose, how the sun was hidden but still glinted in the silver hoop, how his eyes were still warm despite how cold it was out here and reminded San of the embers at the bottom of fireplaces, makes him shy. 

He knew he probably had a blush and looked even more like a dweeb and _god,_ couldn’t he just act normal? 

Not even once?

“Wh-where?” He asked, his half molded snowball in his hand while he brings the other to his face to try and find it.

He doesn’t even notice the snowball Wooyoung has until it’s way too late, and he’s got it smashed over his head, snow raining down over him in gentle flurries and melting on his skin.

“There!”

“No fair! You tricked me!” San huffs and Wooyoung feels the clouds beneath his feet, thinking San was nearly too endearing in the snow.

“Don’t hate the player.”

San smashes his snowball into Wooyoung’s chest, and he takes the opportunity of him being distracted to tackle him to the ground, and he’s surrounded in snow and San’s giggles and the sky above them looks infinite, like it could swallow them whole. 

“Woo. Will you ever let me win?” San asks, looking down at Wooyoung as he sits on his hips, a secure and familiar hold on his waist as thumbs graze over his shirt beneath his jackets.

He does that a lot, but it still gets San every single time. 

“No, baby boy.”

San’s breath hitches, and he feels his entire body spark and his heart drops to the pit of his stomach at that name. Wooyoung knows he’s got him when he feels his fingers curl in his jacket as he looks at his parted lips, faltering and shy again.

Come _on_.

San shakes his head with an embarrassed grin, lightly hitting Wooyoung’s chest again and hiding his mouth behind his free hand, the sound making a muffled thud on the puffs of his jacket, and the snow that was caught in his hair drizzles into Wooyoung’s.

San thinks he looks very beautiful against the white of the snow, vulnerable and gentle like the petals of lilies, or how the moon glows ivory over the ripples in ponds at midnight.

“You are so beautiful in the snow.”

He threads his fingers through his black hair, telling him just this once because he thought Wooyoung should know.

It wasn’t a big deal. San was blushing at something that came out of his own mouth, wasn’t even _meant_ for himself, and his heart was beating in his ears and his blood was boiling, but it wasn’t a big deal. Wooyoung looks lost for a moment after it leaves his lips, as if trying to count the stars that made up the universes San’s head seemed to be full of.

Finally, he releases a breath that makes a thin cloud of vapor pool over his lips, and San tilts his head and thinks Wooyoung was just too good like this.

“I don’t deserve you.”

And as San studies him, watches the way he looks at him and takes him in slowly, he thinks his is right. 

Wooyoung deserved the world and everything in it. He thinks he deserves the stars and the sun and the moon and the very things that San loved to think about; and he fell short of just that. 

Mistakes don’t ruin everything. He’s learned that with him. Even when he was hurting, he still loved Wooyoung for all he was and all he wasn’t, everything he had yet to be and everything he was striving for. And today, when the world was cold, frigid and snowing ice that should have rattled bones, San still feels like the incandescence of fires when looks over the snow that speckled Wooyoung’s black hair like dandelions, his frosted skin and the way he felt like diamonds beneath his palms.

He thinks back to the yellow flowers sitting by his window and smiles.

“You are absolutely right.” San leans down, his words invisible as they ghosted vapor over Wooyoung’s lips, pressing his forehead to his and it feels like magnets made their hearts as San feels so drawn to him, even being this close. “You deserve so much more. I love you. I’d give you the world if I could.” 

San kisses his nose and Wooyoung scrunches it, and San pulls back and tries not to smile at him.

Wooyoung brings up a hand and smoothes his thumb over the apple of San’s cheek, and though he couldn’t feel the remnants of the ice stuck to his glove, goosebumps still run over his body and he can’t tell if it’s from the weather or from this simple gesture.

“And I am so in love with _you_ , Choi San.” 

His voice drips strawberry syrup and he smiles like cream in coffee cups.

San’s heart skips and he feels like flames again, but like tea lights this time. He wasn’t blazing, fiery or damaging like he felt back then, and he was warming so beautifully when he takes in Wooyoung against the snow today. Wooyoung pulls him down, his hand trailing to the back of his neck as the other snakes around his waist, and while San breathes him in and feels his butterflies dance in his chest again, he can’t help but think of the snow around them.

There was something so forgiving about that snow. 

When it was built up, and when it crumbled, it gave second chances once it slipped out of your hands. It gave you ample time to start over if you needed to. It was pretty and inviting and let you control it, while also letting you lose it. There was something about cold noses and silver skies and the crumpled snow in Wooyoung’s hair that made San want to try things differently the next day, to revise rough drafts and let his story unfold just like how he wanted it to, to marvel in its beauty whenever he found a particular page to admire. San found that he could write himself into anything, if he _really_ wanted to.

Just like white walls.

Just like yellow flowers.

Just like the moon.

And as Wooyoung kisses him like tomorrow was lost, as if San would disappear had he not held him in the snow right now, as they’re protected in their own little bubble, he thinks that if he had the chance to rewrite everything involving Wooyoung — to really go back and scribble himself over blank pages, and throw away all the bad parts in their story — he wouldn’t take it.

Not today, not tomorrow, and not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay that's it!! i really hoped you liked it!! and if u didn't i'm sorry :(( 
> 
> hmmm right now i think i’ll work on my seongi merman au but i don't really know how to go about it so it's probably gonna be a while before i update it again, but if you would like to read anything else from me pls go to that!! but only if u wanna
> 
> thank you very much for everything, i know i've said it before but seriously,,,,,, THANK YOU!!! and ik it's not a big deal it's literally just ff but still :(( thank you for sticking with it and reading all the way through!!


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